


Star Wars: Tales from the Old Republic

by DizzIzzi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthology, But it's Star Wars so it's not the same, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Girl Power, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Lots of Legends Canon Though, M/M, Multi, No Smut, POV Character of Color, Psychological Trauma, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Romance, Sexual Tension, Space Opera, Space Wives, Steamy at best, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzIzzi/pseuds/DizzIzzi
Summary: An anthology work based in and around Star Wars: The Old Republic and its time period.In it you will find tales of daring adventure, horrifying conflicts, queer romance, fascinating intrigue, silly comedy and much, much more...Note: Even though this work is marked as complete, more chapters will be released in the future, probably in batches, when I finish them.  Think of them as... expansion packs.  Free, periodic expansion packs...
Relationships: Andronikos Revel/Female Sith Inquisitor, Female Smuggler/Hylo Visz, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Female Republic Trooper, Seriously - Relationship, so gosh darn many





	1. This Little War of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Among The Faded Tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049965) by [Talontales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talontales/pseuds/Talontales). 



> A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
> 
> STAR WARS
> 
> Tales from the Old Republic
> 
> War has been declared. The SITH EMPIRE,  
> emerging from hiding more than twenty years ago,  
> now seeks to reignite its reign of expansion and terror  
> and finish what if failed to accomplish  
> all those years ago. 
> 
> Brave heroes from both sides, Republic and  
> Imperial, must strive to halt the plans  
> of the vile SITH EMPEROR. If they fail, all life  
> will be CONSUMED.
> 
> At the cusp of the outbreak of violence,  
> Grand Master Satele Shan enacts a plan  
> to avert the impending disaster. Her secret weapon,  
> hidden aboard a Republic warship,  
> must now run for its life as the Imperial Navy  
> learn of its importance....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little prologue, an introduction to some of the major movers and shakers not already established in canon.
> 
> Will probably updated if/when I end up adding more characters than need this.

“I’m lying in the rubble of the building. The old trooper next to me is staring, I don’t know why…

I am One with the Force

One day I woke up and found I didn’t know who I was.

Shells boom and whizz around and above our little shelter, just her and me. She’s saying something, but I can’t quite make it out…

I wasn’t a girl from Bakura, I wasn’t a fan of opera, I wasn’t a Jedi.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” Yet why do I _feel_ all these things? 

It’s not easy, running guns, takes a certain kind of finesse. Truth is, the only thing harder I can think of is being a stay-at-home wife.

My entire life they’ve been there, flitting around the edges of my senses. Feelings that aren’t my own…

I can’t see, not in the way other people think they see. There’s an ebb and flow to everything, that’s true, but it’s my entire world.

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.” Yet nobody knows how to help me.

I’ve been told this is a gift, that my literal inability to “see” the world around me is special. 

Like I’ve ever wanted to be special.

We were deployed here, the 5th and 17th Cohorts, to make sure the planet stayed ours. There had been prolonged sieges back and forth for months, despite the “truce,” and for the life of me I don’t know why we’d go and break it for a dust ball world like this…

I tossed and turned as the revelations swept over me, changing me, subsuming me. There was nothing I could do.

The Force is with Me

I was born Alexandria Komnemos, third daughter of Drye and Kir. My home was a tiny little plot of land on the farming world of Athiss. I was so proud when it came time to serve…

I wasn’t born to some life of luxary or a poverty-stricken hole, like most scoundrels are. My family is a nice, quiet middle-class affair in a nice apartment on Nubia, along the Corellian Run. The reason I became a scoundrel was because I wasn’t ever going to be a hero.

I was born to a loving family, an understanding family, one strong in the Force. Growing up knowing you’re going to be a pariah within the Order you’re supposed to love did a lot to me, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m being cynical or just plain paranoid.

I can’t NOT feel, I think. I’ve tried, for years even, to control the stormy seas rolling around my body but it never works. It’s just a part of who I am and I can’t shut it off…

The world around me seems… numb, like I’m not really there, not feeling anything… I wonder…

I watch and I wait, looking out my own eyes as if they’re someone else’s. They _are_ someone else’s, in a way. I’m not _her._

As the drive trail of _Love’s Rest_ leaves me in the dust all I can think is, “Hylo’s gonna kill me.”

The Force lies in all things

“There is no passion, there is serenity.” Yet we are asked to enjoy things, like our work or serving others.

The Imperial Academy wasn’t for me, apparently. “Not enough Nobility in my veins.” So, without ado, I became yet another cog for our glorious Empire…

Nobody wanted me because I’m “not ready.” Because I’m not a stone-dead, balless sycophant, every Master available passed me over until there’s no one left now _but_ me…

I was once a student, a proud pupil of Master Yuon Par. When the darkness touched my mind and I collapsed aboard the derelict Sith Destroyer, my last act as “me” was to make sure she and Qyzen and Holiday were alright.

There’s something, something important, that I have to do… The old soldier seems busy, putting an ear to the blown-out shell of a helmet. Green looks so good on her…

When the Sith started banging up the galaxy my parents got real worried—Nubia’s right in that sweet spot of just rich enough and human enough to be coveted but not enough of a Core World to be heavily protected at all times like Corellia or Rendili. Dad enlisted in the Merchant Marines by the second year of the war and Trem followed in the Navy as soon as he was legal. That’s about when Mom and me started running guns.

“There is no chaos, there is harmony.” Yet even in the depths of the Temple I feel the opposite from those around me. From myself.

The Sith told us to charge, and we charged. The Sith told us of our glory, and we cheered. The Sith told us to die, and we did… oh, we did…

I wonder what my life would be like, if I wasn’t who I am… Would I be married? Would I have children? Would I have died an orphan of the War like so many others? Would I still want to do everything I can to save someone?

It wasn’t like the ship’s a work of art, it looks like trash, but Hylo and I put a lot of work into it over the years and, well… sentimentality means a lot to me, I guess.

I have to get out, explore the galaxy and find my own path, maybe even away from the Jedi if it comes to it. I’m tired of being restricted, boxed in and told I’m doing everything wrong simply by being me!

To be fair, we didn’t actually _run_ the guns, we hired other people to run them for us. That all changed when the Hydian Blockade started choking the Core Worlds. We weren’t affected, but the Way is just a short hop from Nubia, it’d take an unpatriotic fool not to try and help out. I was sixteen.

I can’t feel… something’s wrong, I can’t feel my-! 

I won’t stand for it any longer.

The stupid kid next to me is going on and on about his blaster or something but, really, I couldn’t care. All I want is my ship and the memories inside it back.

Can’t struggle, can’t think, world closed to a pinpoint on a galactic scale—it’s so beautiful… The old soldier becomes my world.

“There is no death, there is the Force.” Yet I see many masters simply ignoring the Force when it tells them something they don’t like.

I met Hylo before we broke the blockade, in a bar on Nubia. She was putting together a crew, bunch of idealistic do-gooders like me who wanted to not see our homes strangled by Sith oppression, and Kain Enterprises had put out feelers. Well, ok, she was in it for the credits—and a bunch of them were, too—but I was new to the business back then…

Not that I can change what the Force has in store for me, I can feel its pull like a tether around my waist. I will continue down my path, whether I take joy in it or not, and place my faith in the Force to ensure I am in the right place for my choices to do what the Force desires.

Gotta admit, love at first sight… for me at least. She’s everything I’d ever dreamed of—smart, talented, snarky, willful, _beautiful_ —it was like the galaxy or the Force or whatever was telling me “maybe you should be _her_ smuggler, if ya know what I mean.” She loaned me my first—my only, really—ship for the raid and I got to fly at her right hand while we tore through the Mandalorian warships. I tried to kiss her for the first time during the after-party, I was so high off the thrill of combat and beating the odds.

Now I’m a monster, a barely consistent psychopath who looks like me, talks like me, loves almost all the things that I loved, but isn’t me. I wish I had never been reborn…

The Force will guide me, point me in the right direction so I can grow and become the better person everyone at the Temple keeps going on about. I’m leaving tonight…

“First thing’s first” I tell myself, gotta check to see if my blaster and emergency medkit are still on my hip. Second is to call up the person who hired me so I can start hunting…

Corporal Alexandria Komnemos is listed as “KIA” during an “unsanctioned and disavowed incursion” on the contested world of Brentaal IV. The old soldier knows differently…

With the Force I find Freedom…

… _This is my story._ ”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this confused you, good and I'm sorry. It was kind of the point to blend all their stories together...
> 
> Each character is denoted by how many indents their chunks begin with. The order is:
> 
> Alexandria Komnemos  
> Pol Surik, with two spaces  
> Nira Sur, with four spaces  
> Myhris Jin, with six spaces  
> Nyl Kain, with eight spaces
> 
> I'd show you visually but this damnable thing won't let me!


	2. Things Best Ill-Remembered: Nira's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first taste of Nira Sur, Sith Inquisitor, at her worst. The earliest work (so far) chronologically, taking place around a year or so before the start of the Jedi Knight storyline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I LOVE the Sith Inquisitor storyline. I haven't finished every class story so I can't say for certain which is my favorite, but this one's tied for first alongside the Female Smuggler's story. She's an absolute psychopath murder machine and, ya know what? It's bloody great to play. Makes my stomach sick when I played as Nira to get a feel for her, but man is it just brilliant.

Blaster fire shakes the ship as the hum of the cannons discharging rings in her ears— _this_ is what life is all about. The _Brentaal Star_ hangs like an elongated nose out the forward view screens and it makes Nira want to laugh; to think she once considered these pathetic ships aesthetically pleasing… Comm chatter rolls around her as the _Black_ _Talon_ tries desperately to close the distance without being ripped to shreds by the far superior warship, nothing she hasn’t sat through one too many times before. She’s in the middle of a yawn when something unexpected beeps at the crew, the holocommunicator.

“Transmission coming in, sir! Long range… it’s a message, but it’s not from the _Brentaal Star_.”

The captain looks worried “My Lord?”

“Why not? Put them through, I suppose…”

Nira’s face doesn’t just affect boredom, it’s made of it; however, when the person who flickers on as the call is put through comes into focus her body does a double take. “This is Grand Master Satele Shan hailing unidentified-” her voice cracks “Nira…?” The Child’s face contorts into one of wicked glee

“Why, Master Shan! What a pleasant surprise, I never thought I’d see _your_ pathetic face again. Like the new look?” She runs her hands over her pale face and body as if she were rubbing blood into it.

“N-Nira what-? What happened to you? When we…” Her eyes wrinkle at the memories. “We thought you had died after your battle with Vivicar, we even searched for you hoping it was not true, but-!”

Nira laughs, her breast heaving up and down with the effort, her face becoming more twisted as the display echoes throughout the eerily quiet bridge. Everyone’s looking at her, fear like a delicate cocktail to her tounge. “Oh, by my Father, I’d forgotten just how gullible you are!” Her stained eyes pinprick as they lock with the Grand Master

“And how’s dear Syo doing, and Master Par?! It’s like I haven’t heard from them in forever! Almost as if they… forgot about me.” Her face becomes a rictus, the pout barely visible underneath it.

“Nira… what-what happened to you?”

“Isn’t it obvious my dear, _dear_ master? After I ‘saved’ that foolish lout Vivicar the spirit of Terrak Morrhage himself popped out to say hello and, well, wouldn’t you know it, but having a Sith Spirit try and possess you brings out all _sorts_ of things best kept hidden.” She’s pacing now, reveling in the theatrics of shattering her old Grand Master’s conception of the universe

“It turns out that little old Nira Sur was, in fact, not from Bakura, no, she’s from Dromund Kaas…” She lets the implication stand, buffeted by the dull rocking of the ship as the whole galaxy seems to still just for this moment. “I am one of many glorious Children of the Emperor, sent out as his secret tool against the blighted Republic.” She practically spits the last words

“Had everything gone to plan I might have laid dormant for… years, maybe decades even! Who knows what could have happened! But, sadly, all that time for secrecy is past, I am now who I’ve always truly been, what Father made me, a loyal servant of my dear, loving Emperor.”

“Now” Nira flourishes her lightsaber, the same one she built from the ancient Forge on Tython, its copper blade shimmering with sinister light “I think it’s time I end this charade of a call and see to my own business.” Her jagged smile is the last thing Master Shan sees before the crazed Sith slices the console open and swishes out of the bridge towards her current lust, murder and mayhem. It’s not until she’s out of view in the turbolift that something even more unexpected than the holocall happens…

Her hand spasms out of grief.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may end up being some more stories from the time between this story and when she next appears, at the end of Act 2 of the Jedi Knight story, but the short version is that it follows the canon storyline exactly, Andronikos is romanced but it's kept casual (not broken up, but not monogamous either) and Nira ends up making the Light Side choices after snapping Thanaton's neck personally. She did use the holocron on Ashara, but regretted it later on.
> 
> Because I'm extra and don't like things to be pronounced phonetically, Nira's last name is pronounced "Soo-ur" enjoy!


	3. After Action Report, War Shaddaa: Alex's Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Alexandria Komnemos privately debriefs after her operation on Nar Shaddaa. Side A to this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird. I have a hard time writing stories from Alex's perspective, despite feeling how easy it should be. It's not that there isn't material, even without the additions I brought the Trooper storyline is kind of an under-appreciated (by the developers specifically) story. At its core, it's about a soldier thrust from the relatively simple world of "go here, shoot this, don't die" into the world of black ops and political intrigue. Garza is... well, you pretty much get my opinions of Garza in the fic from Alex's own mouth. When I've played though it, I didn't feel like there were enough opportunities for me to delve into the murkiness of both war and black ops, not enough truly scarring moral decisions or against-type acts from both sides. Part of why Alex is so jaded and cynical is that I wanted to tell the kind of story about a person who cares so, so much, but will end up realizing both sides are just as bad as the other even if their professed ideals are different.

“…Didn’t want to, even though I was just doing what I thought was right, so were they. Blaster fire ricocheting off personal shields and armor, practically too cramped for my cannon, but I’d brought it anyways. Guess I knew how it was gonna end either way… The last bit of resistance clustered around that  _ stupid  _ droid; ‘Imperial vermin’ my  _ ass _ , the droid was either deaf or made to be the worst kind of idiot. Why Tavus thought this pile of propaganda was a good idea I’ll never know…

It was just three people left in the whole cell, two tech and the boss man himself, Andrik. Man had served on two fronts across a full decade of service, from Ithor to Peragus, he’d seen and probably killed his fair share of horrors. I remember not wanting it to come to what happened, damn shame I’d thought… Bastard didn’t even turn around as he started talking at me, chastising me for being “a little late.” Prick. I’d given him quite the shock when he made the assumption that I’d gunned down Major Zardres and his little listening post, the look on his face was  _ priceless _ . 

The little sycophant didn’t see me as a person, just a blood and chrome suit of armor who followed her little puppet strings whenever big mommy Garza yanked on them—Stars, I hadn’t wanted to punch a man that hard since Coruscant. I don’t think he ever realized how deep his words bit me when he started ranting:

“You make me sick. You killed good men—fellow soldiers! All because some scumbag on Coruscant said they were all traitors?! Your loyalties are all wrong… When you’re bleeding out in a trench on some mudball world, it ain’t High Command that pulls you out—it’s the guy next to you! Now-”

He hadn’t been briefed, obviously. Tavus probably didn’t figure I’d notice this little op, or maybe he really never even cared about me or what I did, just another mindless dog in the gears putting him and his family down. I wanted to shoot the bastard as I started screaming. The longer I went the more I slipped back into how I really talk.

“The Frack do you know?!” I was crying under the helmet. “ _ You’ve _ suffered, yeah—both of us have! While you were bleeding in a trench, I was gushing out all the  _ bloody _ places my limbs used to be! Stars, it’s like all you can think about is how you’ve been dicked over by Command, we ALL have! I was left to  _ die _ , do you get that? Me and about two thousand other loyal, LOYAL, Imperial soldiers dropped on some dustball and told to charge, then left with no support, no intel, no escape. If it wasn’t for the soldier next to me in that hole, I would have fracking  _ bled out _ ! Frag you, you  _ shutta! _ ”

If I’d wanted to say anything else, the droid powering up and pointing weapons at all of us stopped me. Things got… violent after that. Andrik and the techs dove for cover, blasting all the way, as the three of us realized that being in the middle of a wide, open room was not an ideal way to live. The first few blaster shots rang off my shield, but it couldn’t really take much more than that if push came to shove. I’m really,  _ really _ glad I didn’t have to stress test it.

Light like the exhaust trails of some guardian spaceship whirled and whizzed, kind of tipped me off to who it was actually. We’d met about a day prior, storming the Kinton Kings, and for some reason the woman had followed me all the way here afterwards. Well, ok,  _ I _ know the reason but why bother saying it right now? Myhris Jin certainly has a way about her, waving and rolling that saberstaff of hers around like it’s an extension of herself, rather than a reminder of her dead Master. She— _ It’s _ —one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen…

The droid warned us about “needing a decade of sustained fire in order to penetrate his shield” but with a lightsaber? I’ll admit I was pretty damn confident in that moment that things wouldn’t last all that long. It took us about ten minutes. The real problem was always 4X, we’d known that going in, but Andrik put up more of a fight than I’d initially bargained for. The tough bastard took one of his own bolts through the leg and kept sprinting like nothing was wrong, making it to cover before Dorne knocked him on his face. Shame the impact put him in a coma.

Myhris took the blasted droid apart; one good shock to the right part of the shield lattice and the whole thing stopped being so effective. By the end, SIS barely  _ had _ enough left to call “M1-4X.” It felt… I can’t really say how it felt, my body was all jumped up on adrenaline and... other things, my mind kinda just went through the motions while I continued staring. Watching Myhris work, it’s like watching an exotic dancer, stripped down outfit and all. I don’t know if I knew in that moment that I was hooked, but I should’ve. I feel… I don’t know what I feel, exactly, but whatever it is keeps pulling me her direction. Don’t get me started on her core muscles.

This whole debrief—or whatever  _ this _ turned into—got kind of off track, yeah? Not that there’s much left to say though, after absolutely trashing the droid we were in need of a fourth on our ship and somehow,  _ some _ how, Myhris applied and got the job all in one swoop. Nobody says Havoc can’t have a Jedi as an “Advisor” or “Liason” with our pals in Strategic Information. Garza was livid under her rictus grin, I could feel it over the holo when she was told what happened—serves her right for hiding shit no matter what.

Might as well sign off for now, nothing more I gotta add to this either way…”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I have trouble writing the romance between Myhris and Alex out. I can see the threads in my head, feel out the connective tissue between events even, but whenever I've tried to put it to words I just end up feeling stonewalled (pun intended). I figured a really good way of showing the developing relationship would be to get both sides of it, hence the premise of this chapter and the next, I just haven't put that into practice with other parts of their relationship yet...
> 
> Also, yeah, after Tavus's defection Alex changed the color scheme of Havoc back to their original red and white (as seen in the "Hope" trailer and the Havoc Squad Armor on the Cartel Market/GTN). She wanted to distance herself from Tavus's rogue elements while also making the squad her own, going back to their roots also felt like good publicity, the kind of traditionalism diehard nationalists like to think is happening and eat up like 90% off chocolate...


	4. After Action Report, War Shaddaa: Myhris's Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renegade Jedi Myhris Jin privately debriefs after her experiences on Nar Shaddaa. Side B to this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myhris is, perhaps, my most self-indulgent character. I've always had a thing for Zeltronians, and would definitely be one if I could—no, not just because their society is basically Polyamorous Party City, but that certainly helps. Making her a trans girl on top of that is just... well. Having read some other authors' takes on Trans/Non-Binary issues in Star Wars made me wonder just what life would be like for someone like me in the Star Wars galaxy (because so far I can only think of one possible trans/non-binary person in the entirety of both Legends and Canon, which is a shame if not an unexpected one).
> 
> I have her already transitioned to the extent that she desires to be because, well, I want my characters to ultimately be happy and I'm kind of not in a place right now where I could write ream after ream of sci-fi transgender grrl angst... For reference (because it's not shown here) Myhris looks like a athletic woman, with small breasts but wider hips, and just a bit shorter than Alex is (who's around average height for human women in Star Wars) with long black hair.

“…I think, no, I’m _certain_ I know why the Force led me to Nar Shaddaa. The Masters at the Temple teach that all things, ultimately, happen for a reason, whether we live to see it or not. Every death, every scar, every _kiss_ even, is in service of something higher. I didn’t quite ever believe them, now I’m pretty sure I know what they were talking about. It was… Stars, the last week has been more of a mess than my entire life up ‘till this point. I feel like I’ve been pulled through a podracer’s exhaust vent and spit out the other side, except I’m still breathing.

Working with Master Fel… Damn, I’m tearing up here. Losing him, seeing his body— _what was left of it after those bastards…_ all cold on the morgue table, broke me. If it wasn’t for… if I had stormed that compound like I’d intended… I guess I know now why the masters always told us to “control your emotions.” I just don’t think I can…

*sigh*

Anyways, where was I? Right, Alex. After she stormed the, the… I can do this… breath, _breath_ … She went off to do her “top secret” mission and I went off to clean up from mine. The whole time there was this _nagging_ feeling, a weird pull I either hadn’t noticed before or just got, like a tether hooked into my core. I started being… weird. In the fresher I… well, I indulged, and for some reason the leader of Havoc Squad just took up my entire mind. I mean, it’s not like it was the first time I’ve done stuff like that but, well, usually I had kissed the person before having daydreams about them. Not to mention it was the best experience I’ve ever had, bar none.

It got worse when I tried to go to sleep, my mind was plagued with all sorts of images; strange, disjointed scenes almost real enough to touch, showing… I’m not at all sure if all of them were real, or if some of those were fantasies or what-ifs, but I knew they were the kind of visions Master Shan or some great hero has. There was a climax to all of it, a vision so real I thought I was simply living it then and there, of Havoc squaring off against this _giant_ combat droid and the looks on their faces made it _very_ clear they were screwed.

I had been given Master Fel’s lightsaber, the one thing he left behind since I’ve never made my own, so I subconsciously pulled it to me and leapt out of bed before I’d even woken up. Weirdest moment of my life so far. The whole thing felt so surreal as I threw on whatever I could before speeding out of my borrowed apartment at full tilt to wherever it was the Force was taking me. Turns out the Force wanted me to bust into the Empire’s not-so-secret secret prison district without my top half fully on. Thankfully, some kind soul had already done the breaking in for me—maybe there is no coincidence after all…

Havoc Squad had blown a Havoc Squad sized hole—which I’m learning is actually far larger than normal sized holes—through a nondescript bolthole somehow housing enough electricity to make a Sith blush. I didn’t even pay any of it any mind, all I was thinking was _“Please, by the Force, let me not be too late!”_ Alex and the rest of Havoc were exactly where I’d dreamed them, three men pointing blasters and talking big about something important, I didn’t care enough to pay attention. I was just in time to hear Alex cry out

“If it wasn’t for the soldier next to me in that hole, I would have fracking _bled out_ ! Frag you, you _shutta!_ ”

Everyone started shooting and, and… I’m not even sure if it was me moving my body. Her squadmates booked it, hoping they could make it to cover, but Alex, just like I saw, stood there and took their fire. I only had eyes for her. I know I moved because she isn’t dead, but the moment I ignited Master Fel’s saber everything just became this _haze_. The only stuff coming back to me… well, it’s mostly just still frames of Alex in her red and white armor so I’m pretty sure that I didn’t stand there for the whole fight staring at her…

When my memory becomes, well, memory again I’m standing in the huge room, a pile of steaming slag and three bodies littered amidst the pock marks and scorch burns. Havoc was fine, barely a scratch on them, but the droid they’d been chasing was in enough pieces to fill my hand. Whoops.

I’m positive I made an impression, I felt her staring at me no matter what she or I was doing, and if my skin wasn’t already a nice shade of pink the blush I had over this would have been incredibly obvious. The relief I felt just being near Alex was like… well, it was like being in one of the private glades on Tython, the kind of peace you can’t find anywhere else. I just had to chase that feeling, it’s the Will of the Force, I think. So I pulled a few strings.

It’s not like the SIS needed me on Nar Shaddaa anymore, the whole operation wrapped up when Havoc… and getting an “in” with the most lauded Special Forces squad was just the kind of thing Agent Dullan’s superiors wanted to hear. Maybe I’ve signed myself up for more than I bargained for, but it’ll be worth it, has to. That said, Havoc Squad itself welcomed me with, I think, open arms. Ok, well, Alex did, and Sargant Dorne at least gave me a pleasant smile when she saluted. Jorgan, according to Alex, is just a grumpy-puss and “I shouldn’t mind him when he gets catty.” I can’t tell if she said that as a joke or an insult.

The holocall with Havoc’s superior went really well! She even smiled when she complimented Alex’s executive decision to share information with the SIS. I don’t know why Alex felt like the taste of salt when I was gauging her reactions, so maybe I missed something, who knows? Anyways, I’ve got to go, seems there’s a meeting about our next mission I need to attend to. Next time then!

…I think I’m in love…”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried several styles for writing for Myhris. First I tried writing her as I do Nira or Pol, third person (more-or-less omnipotent) present tense, either the style or the subject matter felt wrong. I then tried couching her story as a diary (an initial version of what we have here) but that didn't work, didn't convey the action like I wanted to. I'm still figuring it out, but I like this style for fics set during her time in Havoc, especially when contrasted with Alex's side.
> 
> Also, yes, they are fated gays for each other. I'm sappy, I know, I can't help it. I find this couple too cute to do anything but.


	5. Daughter of my Daughter: A Surik Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jedi Knight Pol Surik receives a revelation while preparing for a dangerous mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, Pol Surik. She ended up being my framing device for the majority of this batch's stories, despite my initial desire to have her be a more "mythic" figure, only experienced from without rather than within. There's just... something about her, the fact that she's my canon Outlander notwithstanding, that I just love to write about. Maybe it's her being blind, how she perceives the universe differently, that calls to me, maybe it's just because she's at the center of so many things and has the ability to understand what's going on even in the privacy of unshielded minds. Whatever it is, I really love writing this playful dork as she gets beaten down over and over again until she isn't even recognizable to her former self anymore...

As if the world didn’t matter anymore, everything falls away from the three Jedi as their eyes open. For Pol, it's even more a metaphorical thing than for Kira or Master Oteg, she never knew what it was like to “see” in the first place. The feeling of her mother drifted into reality as the three become like one, Oteg leading his charges towards the out-of-reach truth. A woman, no bigger than how Pol feels herself, kneels before her mind, praying. Pol can sense her curves, feel the dimples and divets and the many scars that make up the ghost’s body, feel her unwashed hair from when she died.

_ “She is here…”  _ Oteg intones  _ “a Jedi without physical form. Her body is long dead, but her wisdom—her essence—lives on.” _ It’s as if he is heard yet, at the same time, unheard. Pol’s brain tries not to tangle with that.

“Flesh of my Flesh” the entity speaks with the voice of a resonating bell “The darkness that comes will consume all it touches. Stars will burn black, ashes raining on lifeless worlds. Everything will end.” She wrinkles as if in pain. “The prisoner holds the darkness at bay, lost inside it for three-hundred years. His strength will fail. Then, he will become the darkness.”

Oteg strains as one tries to become three again  _ “I’m sorry, my friend, the bond weakens. I’ll take things from here.” _

_ “No, wait! How… Who are you?” _ Pol’s voice waivers while she reels

“Flesh of my Flesh, Daughter of my Daughters,” the spirit flickers and warbles “long ago I carried the name ‘Surik,’ now I am known only as ‘Exile.’ Find my beloved’s legacy where she lay to rest, use it well.” As the physical world reasserts itself, the ancestor-ghost whispers one final line  _ “It is needed.” _

Everything spins as perception realigns with itself, separates into distinct entities. The trio is left kneeling, as they had begun, on the cold metal floor of the Ops Center, the apparition gone like it had never happened. “Hmmm” Oteg muses “The Force, it seems, may be more with us than I realized.” Pol doesn’t respond, her sightless black veil merely peering at the ground in thought

“Hey” Kira prods her friend and mentor “not to, ya know, get sidetracked, but what’s with all that ‘Flesh of my Flesh’ stuff? And why did that ghost have your last name?”

“I…” It takes her a while, her hands clenching and unclenching on her lap “I didn’t realize… My family has always been strong in the Force, the fact that I’m even part of a bloodline is kind of a thing the Council doesn’t like. You know I came to the Temple recently, right?”

“Yeah, and? There’s plenty of other Enclaves out there and, I mean, not everyone shows their sensitivity at birth…”

“Well, I wasn’t sent there until recently because my family prefers to let us mature more first before joining the Order proper. They have some… disagreements, with how we’re run.” She continues to stare, meaninglessly, at the floor

“Ooh-kay, but what’s with all this ‘Exile’ stuff, too? Master Oteg, do you know anything about this?”

The diminutive master turns towards the console they met him at, placing his hands on the lip. Pol doesn’t move an inch but Kira shuffles restlessly as Oteg drums his digits on the metal “She told me many things, but perhaps the Archives on Tython would have the answers?” He sighs. “I don’t know  _ that _ much about our history.”

“What I do know, however, is what my friend has asked us to do. She revealed the existence of an Imperial prison in the constantly shifting Maelstrom Nebula—and a way to get in there. The only way to navigate the Maelstrom is using a Gree computer hidden at an Imperial fortress. We need that computer to free the Jedi prisoner.” He turns to the duo. “Do as my friend asked, search for the legacy she spoke of. Take some time to do your research if you want while I put out the call, assemble a strike team to support you. We’ll need every bit of help we can get if we’re going to free the prisoner.”

  
  


Their flight back to Tython was, to put it lightly, a bit tense. T7 took up the duty of flying the ship while Pol locked herself in her room. Kira wasn’t  _ mad _ , per se, but in a weird, roundabout way she felt a little betrayed. It was irrational, she knew that, but that part of her that still didn’t trust was telling her that if Pol had kept something like this a secret, there’s no telling what else she might be hiding. The fact that she’d done the same seemed to slip Kira’s mind.

Nothing felt like it changed at the Temple, the kind of serenity it maintained feels somehow out of place when compared to the rest of the galaxy. Kira and Pol were admitted to the Archives without much fanfare, just two Knights doing a bit of reading between missions. The general history certainly didn’t mention anything about an “Exile” nor did Master Dural’s holorecordings on recent history. In fact, the only mentions of the name “Surik” were the lists of Knights and Masters. There wasn’t anything before just over three-hundred years ago that was relevant.

“This is getting us NOWEHERE!” Kira shouted, rubbing her hands through her ginger hair like she was scrubbing out a stain. “How can someone so important as to only be known by her title not be ANYWHERE HERE!?” Pol, reserved as always, pulls her fingers off her translator and turns her head to face her friend “Honestly, I expected this.” Kira just gapes

“You. Expected. This. We spent  _ hours _ of our lives, hours we could’ve spent fighting evil or, I don’t know, saving children, on something you figured wasn’t going to BE HERE!?” The fact that they were drawing attention doesn’t register with Kira

“Yes, well… she  _ is _ my direct ancestor. If my guess is right, then she’s the start of my family’s line, which means she’s also probably the reason we don’t get along with the Council all that well. Even assuming all our records are intact, which I think Master Dural confirmed for us they’re not in entry one, do you really think the Council would let such a disagreement be public knowledge?”

Kira gasps “What? That’s absurd! The Council would never-“

“They would. Did you know the Jedi Order as we know it is pretty recent? It reformed after being almost wiped out about three-hundred years ago. My family claims we helped re-found it.”

“I-but-bffft-“ Kira sputters wildly as she tries to decide whether or not to believe her friend or not. Everything the Order taught her suddenly came into question for one crystalized moment. The fact that Pol looked so calm didn’t help either. “I was taught” Pol continues “that when the reconstituted Council, the first Council for this iteration of the Order, stepped down the people who replaced them didn’t agree on how the Jedi should be taught and worked to purge all of their influence from the Order.” The young woman sighs, the hand on her chin idly drumming her cheek. Almost as if an afterthought, she said “My family still consider themselves Jedi, we just…”

“Well… I guess I can understand. I don’t necessarily agree with the Council all the time either and I’m still a Jedi. They’re obviously still good people, if you’re their kid.”

“I… Yeah. Thanks, Kira, you’re really sweet.”

Kira didn’t stop blushing or sputtering until they got on the outbound shuttle.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, if Bioware were to take the Jedi Knight storyline and turn it into KOTOR 3, they would make the player character the direct descendant of Visas Marr (and whomever she married). Not only does it align with "fate" but the dichotomy of having the descendants of Bastilla and Marr, the two left behind, being the ones to save the day is right up Bioware's alley. I made Meetra and Visas cute wives (food for story thought later...) because A.). GAY! B.) It would mirror Revan and Bastilla's relationship and C.) I really wanted Meetra to be more important to the story, she just gets dumped after Taral V and doesn't even show up for Shadows of Revan (as far as I can find, anyways) which SUCKS! KOTOR 2 is my favorite out of these three games and deserves all the love it's possible to give it!
> 
> I'd considered making Revan female, like I always do when playing KOTOR, or having "him" actually be a trans gal, but Talonticus's fic "Visions of Devastation" just does such a good job of it that, well... I didn't want to step on her toes, really, nor do I think I could do it better than her. So I'm sticking closer to canon, Revan's a man, but this time Meetra sticks around like Kallig does, except she's even cooler (ok, she's just as cool, not much can beat Grandpappy Kallig and his paranoid sass in my opinion)


	6. The Gathering of Nine: A Surik Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine heroes gather for a perilous mission. Introductions are made.

The Ops Center is packed, both with officers bustling about on their business but also with several different, new faces. Pol and Kira stand at the apex of the semi-circle, their new compatriots filling out the rest as Master Oteg began his speech.

“Friends, I’m so glad all of you could make it.” The tiny Jedi begins. “As each of you know, we are gathered here for a mission that may just prove critical for the survival of the Republic. We aren’t officially at war yet, but I sense that will not be the case all too soon. Before we begin, I think some introductions are in order. Pol, would you be so kind?” The veiled Jedi pricks her head up slightly

“Ah, ahem, yes.” The veil can only mostly hide the blush on her porcelain cheeks. “My name is Pol Surik, I’m a Knight of the Jedi Order. This is Kira Carsen, my former padawan.”

Pol brushes a hand in her friend’s direction, but as she opens her mouth to continue Kira interrupts.  “Don’t mind her, she’s just not used to getting out much.” This earns an agitated slap against her toned arm and Pol squeaking “Kira!” but she continues,

“She’s comes off as cold but trust me, it’s just how she looks. She’s in this just as much as everyone else is.” Her smile is practically shit-eating, Pol is not as amused.

“Thanks Kira, real smooth. What I would do without you…”

“You never want to find out” the two’s banter gets cut off by a cough to Kira’s left. The woman’s voice feels like it’s from the Expansion Regions, warm and rich with a bit of a roll on certain sounds, but something about it ticks a small warning bell inside the mind, like a well-crafted accent. “Excuse me, Master Jedi, but don’t we have a job to do?” It sounds like a question, but in the way the tanned, olive-skinned soldier phrases it, everyone’s certain it’s not. Oteg nods 

“I agree, Captain, best to cover as much as we can before we depart for the objective. Would you like to continue the introductions then?”

The armored woman next to Kira nods “Yes sir. My name’s Alexandria Komnemos, Captian, Havoc Squad. Me and my squad were called in to assist in any way can.” The two people to her left all nod politely in no particular direction. “This is my XO and medic, Liutenant Dorne, my sniper Sergeant Jorgan, and at the end is our Jedi advisor on loan from the SIS, Jin.”

The last member of Alexandria’s group gives a little wave, halfway between shy and nervous. Kira swears she’s felt her presence before, but the last member of the strike team speaks before she can give it more thought. The last member, a shockingly long-horned zabrak whose red skin reminds Kira of the sands on Korriban, barely seems to move as his warm, mauve colored eyes scan the assembly. His voice comes out as a smooth rumble, not quite a deep baritone but closer to how a slick tenor might sound. 

“Greetings, my name is Kesvex. I, too, am a Knight of the Jedi Order and have been tasked by my superiors to assist this mission in any way that I am able.” His bow is crisp and formal, sharp eyes flicking from face to face. “I look forward to this endeavor, come what may.”

The droid at Kesvex’s side beeps and whistles with an agitation born from righteous fury; T7 doesn’t like being forgotten or left out, after all. “And that would be T7, they’re my… logistical support.” Pol pretends not to be a bit embarrassed as T7 whoops and hollers their protestations at her. Kira laughs, as does the flushed-pink Zeltronian, Jin, on the other end of the semicircle, and the petulant astromech starts to wheel over to their companion, computer spike crackling and ready to strike. Master Oteg coughs, the diminutive Jedi Master glaring at the offenders with his trademark kind sternness before speaking.

“Now that we have all been introduced, I think it’s best if we outline the mission again, to make sure we’re all on the same page.” He barely waits for the group to nod before beginning. “To reiterate for all of you, we have discovered the location of a secret Imperial Prison, hidden away within the constantly shifting Maelstrom Nebula—and a way to get there. The only way to navigate the nebula is using a Gree computer, hidden within an Imperial fortress. We need that computer to free a prisoner critical to the war effort held within the prison.”

The Jedi advisor raises a slender, muscular arm “Ummm, not to be rude but… what’s a Gree and why are their computers so important?” Oteg simply shrugs

“The Gree are an ancient civilization, rarely seen anymore. Their technology seems to be far beyond our own; how the Empire acquired one of their computers is certainly a mystery to me.” His body shifts, scrunching in as his tone becomes graver. “The fortress we’re invading is on the planet Taral V. Enemy territory, protected by Imperial warships. Too many to fight...”

The world seems to fade away for Pol, a faint, familial tingle pricking down her neck and towards her shoulder. She’s felt this before. “Flesh of my Flesh” the apparition wraps itself around her in a loving embrace, her ghostly hands visible to the Jedi’s sightless sight “you have found my beloved’s legacy, made it your own… I am proud of you.” Pol holds her breath, stiffens imperceptibly as her hand grips her stick tighter. The remade saber, and the inherited crystal in its heart, at her side sings. 

_ “I… I know your name now. I think I know why you’re doing this, too.”  _ Pol gasps, her lips holding the words in the hope no one will notice

“Yes. We left to face the Emperor, and failed. You know what is at stake, you must not fail.  _ I will be with you…” _

“Pol? Pol.”

She’s aware again, the room swirling back around her, and her shoulder shakes. Kira bends to peek underneath her veil, the crimson red lace on the trim waving as her friend stirred. “Yes?” The tension seeps out of her shoulders and jaw, her hand becoming more comfortable around her walking stick. “Jeez!” Kira mocks, “Did ya fall asleep or something?” Kira has that kind of grin on her face, smug and troublesome as she peers even closer to her blind friend

“Come on, time’s a-wasting! We got us a fortress to crack open, up and at ‘em!”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work features an OC of a dear friend of mine, one of my bestest and dearest to my heart, Kesvex. While this Jedi Watchman (oops! Spoilers...) will undoubtedly appear in other fics in the future, I still need to confer with my bestie on how well I portrayed him. I didn't give much of a physical description because, well, they haven't put together his "final" look yet (although that cosplay genius is working on it right now). For reference, his horns look vaguely like a crown and are so prominent as to be able to be used as a goring implement... not so "vestigial" now, are they?
> 
> Shoutouts to In The Corner Cosplay for being one of the besstest people I could ever possibly have met, I am so SO grateful I managed to keep you as a best friend, you're worth every penny I could ever own. We need to find a way to get together for a weekend and duke it out with our lightsabers like we used to, I'm missing your powerful swings mightily.


	7. Sister's in Arms: Kira's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the most dire of predicaments, an unlikely ally makes herself known and rescues someone dear to her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda wish we had been given more of the Hero of Tython's time in the Emperor's sanctum, but at least what we get isn't bad either.
> 
> This is a taste/remedy for that.

_“Who… Who are you?”_

“Oh my dear, have you forgotten already?” _Voices, in her head, laughing, crying,_ screaming _. No more,_ NO MORE _, won’t let up, it’s whispers all the time, the same ones she’s had for her whole life but they’re larger again, louder._ She’s riding passenger in her own skin. “Get out of my HEAD!” The classroom of one shudders and the teacher, red hue betraying his blood’s impurity, raises an eye

“Kira. Pay attention.”

“Yes master.” It’s a rote response

The halls of the Emperor’s Sanctum blow their eerie chills right out of her memory. Droids patrol the halls and Children, her “siblings,” watch for all signs of faltering. Madness and despair wail in every umbral beam and rivet, slither out and into every inhabitant to ever hold a kernel of sanity. She walks it like an old friend, her puppet strings re-attached after years and years of being cut, her face even smiles.

Kira’s body lies in a bunk—her old one even, from that brief, unremembered time aboard the Emperor’s personal station. Eyes, sightless, stare at everything as more of _Him_ worms into her crevices. The voices aren’t leaving her, now or ever maybe, but one seems more “real.”

“Focus on my voice, dear, it’s not going to harm you. In fact, nothing bad’s going to happen ever again.” It sounds like her mother

“No… who… wha…” Kira tosses and turns in her trance

“It’s ok, I’m here to help. Follow my voice, let me guide you back out of the nightmare…”

_She’s in her room—no, that can’t be right—the little twinkling lights of the holos and datapads are kind of soothing. She’s facing her Father, He’s barely even angry, but she’s all alone. “Why am I all alone?” But it’s not an important question, there are no questions, only obeisance. But that’s not true, not true at all. Wailing, screaming, lightning arcing up and down, Pol shouting…_

_“Did all that happen in my room? It seems so small…”_

“Figure it out, dear. They are _your_ memories after all.”

“But are they?”

She’s torturing something—some _one_ , she needs to remember—it barely even squeaks. Father’s gift crackles and burns her fingertips but it’s not like it matters, pain is a kind of passion after all. Something gives out. Her teacher looks on with his impassive approval, she’s doing such good work after all. When the screams peak her mouth smiles for her.

More dreams, mixed-up recollections of events, whether they happened or not. She feels the whispers in the halls. Kira doesn’t see anyone she knows, at least when she’s enough of herself to look out her own eyes, and maybe that’s a relief, maybe Pol or Master Braga or Leeha got away… The face of Tela looks at her as Kira’s lips mock her cage. There is no escape.

She hears how she’s doing so well, learning so fast, it’s almost a miracle even. Something whispers in the back of her skull _“I’ll come for you soon.”_ Kira doesn’t know whether to be afraid or not.

 _Father’s telling her, teaching her, reminding “Kira” how to be a good tool. Was that even her name before all this or did Father give her that? He tells her of His plans, how she will be His instrument in destruction, and warm shivers melt through her as she thinks that it’s_ good _. She can never remember what His voice sounds like, even now in her sleep. It’s always in her own voice._

She remembers resisting, once, of bucking and braying as He tried to force His essence back into its place inside her mind. _“Where did all that fire go?”_ She wonders as her arms dismember droid after droid with a lightsaber she left long ago. “It’s just sitting there, waiting for the perfect chance to rise up, dear.” Kira hears it through her ears and deep in her core, it’s a sing-song voice. Her watcher doesn’t seem to move, robes of black and red just like all the others, but something feels familiar, reminiscent. Her dance fills with an uncommon glee as she pirouettes through her foes.

“Well done, dear. I commend you on your superb reflexes, as always.”

“Thank you, Darth Nox.”

She barely tosses now, as she nightmares. _Her hilt as she made her first kill, another boy. Father made them do it, held their hands as He drove her blade home for her. She never meant to. He made her forget that she didn’t want to afterwards, as a kindness, made her like the killing. It was easy. There’s… something else, a shape on the edge of her mind’s eye watching her,_ seeing _her._ Kira knows who it is.

It’s time, time for the Big Day. Kira’s strapped into the machine to await her Mood Stabilization Punishment with an eager glee, ready and willing to play the part. Someone walks in, tall and imperious. Black robes like cotton-leather, red streaks where the plates lie. Her face looks more like Father’s than Kira’s does, even with the sultry pink hair. Those jaundice red eyes bore into Kira, body and soul, like she knows _all_ her secrets.

“It’s time to wake up dear, you’ve been asleep for too long.” Kira’s lips try but can’t speak its puppet thoughts. “Remember who _you_ are, without our Father, without the murky dark, without the lies. Remember for me dear, you’re needed soon.”

“N… Nira…?”

“I’m glad you still remember, Kira. I’m glad we haven’t met again until now, but I’m even more glad I found out about you so quickly.”

“Wh…at?”

“Shhhh, no words dear. Your friend’s going to be coming in soon, she needs you awake, and I have to rush, busy busy with my work, after all. All you need to know is, I’ll always be here for you, in our little corner, making sure He doesn’t do to us what He did ever again.”

Nira kisses her “sister” on the cheek and like a clarion call Kira suddenly finds where she put all that strength she’d forgotten and _fights_ . Every trench, every crevice and channel is her battleground as, inch by inch, she pushes back and rises up. Her Father—" _The Emperor_ ”—will not have her, now or ever again.

She’s getting antsy, desperate by the time Pol walks in, one of her masks hastily plastered over her pale face. _“We really are getting out of here, aren’t we…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I LOVE the concept of Children of the Emperor, and feel like they kind of get underutilized when they pop up. In the Consular's storyline, they end up being reduced to generic "kill me I'm evil" bosses after the big reveal at the end of Act 2. The Jedi Knight has a bit because of their involvement with Kira, but really it's limited to her and then some after effects of the class story's finale. I wish, at least, that the other Children had the chance to be redeemable, or at the very least have depth of character, and would have loved for them to have popped up during Shadows of Revan within the Revanite ranks, manipulating things further... Or heck, having them on Ziost would be... sorry, spoilers.
> 
> Whenever characters mention the Sith Emperor with a capital H "He" it's because the Emperor has implanted within them the inability to think of him in any other way other than "He" or "Father." Messed up, I know, just imagine what his kids would think...


	8. Saving Sergeant Jaxo: A Havoc Tale

“Thirty seconds, then you vent the area.” Her voice has panic written all over it, the Imperial coming out under duress. “Take a deep breath and hold onto something sturdy Jaxo, I’ll be there before you know it.”

She’d jumped as soon as she heard Jaxo had been captured, the Special Forces Sergeant couldn’t be luckier to have someone like the leader of Havoc Squad as her personal guardian. They’d been only a day’s journey away when General Garza made the call, Alex instantly volunteered once she heard who’d tipped them off to the location of the prison. Her squad had given the Major looks, Elara in particular, but none of them really knew Jaxo like she did, so none of them cared as much as she did either. Alex kept replaying that night—it felt like a million years ago then, not the three months plus change it actually was—and the image of the two of them cuddled up in the dark stayed stuck on repeat, like she’d recorded the whole thing. Alex kept on willing her memory to say what she’d really wanted to say and was too drunk to put into coherent speech “You’ve got the prettiest eyes…”

The station was an asteroid, most of the rooms simply hewn out of the rock and pressure sealed; the Imperials didn’t really care if a few hundred prisoners and a handful of grunts died, after all. She’d gotten more than her fill of looking at the unassuming structure while the _Bell_ coasted in; if it weren’t for the flags and the black and red motifs the place could have been mistaken for a pirate’s berth or a tiny mining company’s only holding. As it was, Alex checked and double checked her autocannon right up to the moment Havoc’s boots hit the rock.

The _booms_ and crashes continue as she legs it for the shaft—only one level to jump down to and she’d be there. Ten seconds before the atmosphere vents, probably a minute of life if she’s lucky. An explosion nearly trips her up but the gyros in her legs keep the almost unnaturally fast trooper sprinting on and on. The shaft’s right in front of her. Zero seconds.

It had been a trap, of course, why else would it have been so easy to find this supposedly “secret” prison complex now when the Republic hadn’t been able to find it after nearly a decade of searching? She’d given Havoc their orders, clear out the quickest path to the prisons and then start opening what cells they could, she would handle the rest. It was fortunate there was still a ship docked with the station—the fact that it was supposedly empty did nothing to allay her suspicions. Nothing there was too hard, not for Havoc anyways, and Alex had blown through droid after droid on her way to the mainframe. She wasn’t terribly happy about all this, not for a bit. Ava had said she’d be down a level helping open doors and the like despite Alex’s protests—not like she had any concrete proof to back up her well-founded paranoia, after all. The minute Rakton’s smug face appeared on the holo Alex’s gears were already whirring at full speed.

_Whoosh_ and the suction nearly pulls Alex into the black, her magboot the only reason she stays alive. Jaxo’s at the other end, droids and scrap whizzing past both of them as they evacuate the station alongside the air. Another _boom_ rocks the corridors. Alex walks like she’s cutting fruit, the kind of effortless ease you expect from a runway model and not a fully armored soldier. She’s so close, so close…

Jaxo’s running out of reserves, being smacked in the gut by a blaster rifle does that to a woman. If this were any other time, she’d only feel mild panic, but as her fingers slip from the beam it’s all she can do to keep from letting it all end. _“I don’t wanna die here! Please don’t let me die here!”_ If those were her last words at least they’d been honest, if maybe not what she’d want. She starts to slip further, further down the beam, her joints prickle under the strain and it feels as if they’ll all just come off like parts of a toothpick. She’s definitely beyond panic now, her life flashing before her eyes for the second time today.

There’s a moment, one moment, that sticks. It’s that night, so long ago it feels like a different person’s story, when she drank and drank and _drank_ —that’ll teach them to not try and get Ava Jaxo under the table! She’d been so pissed she barely remembered anything come morning, it all felt like a dream or someone else’s fantasy… not that she could tell. She’d remembered the two women lying in a pile, sheets strewn about along with all their clothes, and that’d been the first clue that some of those odd dreams might not be dreams after all—except for the part about the Wookie stripper, that was _definitely_ not real. It replays in excruciating detail, every spot and fake pour and twitch of electronics uncovered for her mind to soak in; she felt like she traced the curve of Alex’s lips for hours. She didn’t remember if they did anything, their underwear was still mostly on so it couldn’t have been much, but Stars did seeing her up close do _things_ for her…

Her fingers slip. She’s falling out into the inky black. It’s too late.

She didn’t even say goodbye

  
  


Jaxo’s pulled in, wrapped in a cold blanket and something’s shoved up her nostrils and down her throat, an emergency rebreather. Her eyes water as her rescuer suddenly jerks in a direction; she can’t see but her gut tells her they’re being pulled out together. _“Maybe it won’t be so bad…”_

The elevator shaft still has power and the doors close as rounds continue to pound the restored shields, there isn’t much time left. The iron grip loosens a little and the breath Alex didn’t know she was holding in blows out and through the speakers in her helmet. They’re safe. 

“Thanks.” Jaxo is tired, all her energy sucked out and eaten by the vacuum of space; she starts to sag in Alex’s grasp. “Thank me when we get out of this.” It’s the most she gets verbally but the tight, reassuring grip on her frame speaks enough for both of them.

The rush to the hanger is frantic, leaping over debris and broken droids like their lives depended on it. Their lives _depend_ on reaching the _Liberty Bell_. The ramp’s just in view…

A blast shakes the station, the blast doors fall shut without the power to open them again. They’re trapped, doomed. “Dammit!” Alex’s gruff Imperial accent crackles over her speakers as she slams her free hand into the door, her grip on Jaxo tightens a little more. They were so close, _so close_ , it would have taken mere moments to sprint up the ramp and into the safety of a pressurized interior. Now everything they’d tried to do— _she’d_ tried to do—was for nothing, just scrap to be blown away by the Imperial war machine, like so many other things. The radio perks up.

“Alex! Get away from the doors!” The sprint is instinctual.

The doors fly apart, pieces of bent and rent metal hitting the opposite wall with ferocity. Alex picks up Jaxo once more and legs it to her ship as the prison starts to shatter in earnest, Myhris egging them on from the lip. They’re safe.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first story ever written for this series. I was playing this part with Alex, as I've done with all my major OCs to get a feel for what they would do or how they act, and when I came to the decision to save Jaxo or the prisoners what immediately went through my head was "the turbolift is literally a short dash away, Jaxo's explicitly one level below in a small station, I'm not only playing a full body cyborg but am in full, airtight armor—it stands to reason that Alex could do both and only loose a few of the prisoners at most if she ran fast enough." If you can't guess, I chose to save Jaxo and was crying the entire way at the hard moral choice. I get really invested in my characters when I roleplay...
> 
> In fact, this story was written (shortly) before I came up with the idea of Myhris, I'd originally shipped Alex and Jaxo (cus Dorne would be too rule-heavy for her and the rest of the team wouldn't be her style either) and still do within the story, just as a possible one-night stand/casual fling/unrequited love or lust.
> 
> Also, the two other women with Jaxo and Alex that night? Totally a couple after drunkenly deciding to kiss, then have sex, then wake up and remember and realize "ya know what? This person is hot and amazing and I want to do this again, with flowers next time."  
> Yeah, classic Izzi, making throwaway characters queer and more important than originally intended! Booyah!


	9. Behind My Back: A Knight's Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the cusp of defeat or victory, choices and alliances come back to cut a rift between the fragile peace.
> 
> Also Havoc got dragged into it, because having four people fend off an elite army is too outrageous for this gal!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first (so far) appearance of two OCs who replace canon companions.
> 
> Doc is replaced by Tela "Nightlife" Owen. Basically I REALLY hate Doc and can rant about his misogynistic, non-consensual ass for hours but I love the character he is badly ripped from, "Hawkeye" from M.A.S.H. I just made this version female to balance out the crew ratio—I'm not kidding, that's the only reason she's female instead of the one who replaces Rusk. She's a blonde human wearing the Impulsive Adventurer's set, has the diamond pattern makeup off the Cartel Market and is a conscientious objector, so she doesn't use a weapon (although she carries a pistol for emergencies, she will not kill with it or any other object, even in self defense. Doesn't mean she can't shoot your arm off, though). Her first name is pronounced "Teh-Lā"
> 
> Rusk is replaced by Sir Eckrin. While I don't actively HATE Rusk, he's not the kind of person Pol would ever want fifty feet near her team (it's really the uncaring attitude towards loss of life that gets her). Instead, we have Sir Eckrin, a Tipani noble and master duelist who, over the course of much of the last war, fought countless force-wielding opponents and triumphed. I kind of think of him as an anti-Scourge, loving where Scourge is uncaring, fatherly where Scourge is... not. He's a dark brown Cathar with lots of grey and silver streaking his fur, his fauxhawk cinched with his promise ring, he's also kind of lanky, more wiry than brawny, and wears a modified (read: fancier) version of the Renowned Duelist's set and carries a lightfoil (look them up, they're cool)

The streets of Kaas City stand stiller than a tomb. No pedestrians idly amble, nor are there swarms of soldiers ready and willing to throw their lives in front of them for their nation. The only noises are the pour of rain and the fizzle of a cantina’s holosign

“It is too quiet. Something is wrong.”

The hulking brute of a man, made all the more intimidating with his equally bulky armor, prowls like a giant, obsidian and rust red Nexu stalking his prey. Lord Scourge still feels almost entirely alien to Pol, which only serves to make her want to know more. He  _ knew _ her ancestor, knew Revan, experienced more than three-hundred years of a Sith Empire neither she nor her companions would ever experience. The former Wrath somehow manages to hide himself behind a light pole at least two sizes too small.

His statement wasn’t wrong, however, it is disturbingly quiet. She can’t sense any breathing in their vicinity, as if any personal that might have been here had been moved away to some other place. Her hand grips even tighter around her lightsaber as the crew moves, cautiously, towards their objective.

“I, uh… I might’ve had something to do with that…” Kira scratches her cheek idly as everyone, Scourge especially, pins her with a glare.

“You… what?”

“Well, ya see…” The ginger Jedi falters “Remember when Pol and I were captured by the Emperor? See, I didn’t break his control alone, someone else gave me the push I needed.” Pol turns her head Kira’s direction out of courtesy

“Continue…”

“So, I’m not the only Child who’s broken His conditioning.” Kira flits her eyes from person to person. “I’m not the only one who ended up as a Jedi either. A bunch of years back, there was another Jedi—she didn’t know what she was like I did—who ended up saving a bunch of Masters from this Sith ghost. Problem was, in that fight the ghost tried to possess her, and ended up getting, well, eaten… She kinda went full crazy psycho-killer after that.” Kira takes in a long breath. “To cut an even longer, more confusing story short, my ‘sister’ ended up having her personalities merged so that, while she isn’t the same Jedi she was, she also definitely isn’t what our ‘Father’ made her. Combine that with being on the Dark Council…”

The entire strike team can only sit and stare at her, even T7 would have had their mouth open if they had one. Rain pelts their oilslicks as the team takes it all in. Havoc Squad tightens themselves just a bit, Major Komnemos in particular shrinking back as if a black hole was begging her to come in, with their “Jedi Advisor” Mhyris positioned as the least hostile towards Kira. Pol holds her walking stick impassively, almost like a statue, with T7 by her side. Tela shivers uncontrollably and Sir Eckrin has to put a hand on her shoulder to make her stop, the old soldier’s ears twitching even more than before. Scourge is the most drastic of all of them, the bulky Sith ignites his ruby-red sword and points its tip right at Kira’s face.

“You have doomed us all. Now that the Dark Council knows of our plans so too will the Emperor, the fact that one of his Children is the one you told only makes that more of a certainty. You must be destroyed if we are to have any chance to succeed.”

“Wha-! That’s crazy! I just made it so no one’s gonna know we were here! And weren’t you listening? She’s here to  _ help _ us kill the Emperor, not-” Scourge flicks his blade, arcing it towards her throat

“Scourge!”

The bark echoes off the empty walls, bouncing back and forth like a siren. Pol hasn’t moved from her spot, her veil fixed on the taller man’s eyes, but nevertheless the Sith stops his weapon abruptly, inches from Kira’s skin. Time immobilizes, its only indicator is the rain plipping off armor and metal plating. Pol shifts, turning her body to face the entire group 

“Killing Kira won’t solve any problems we may or may not have. The fact that the Sith Emperor moved at all means he at least assumes we’re coming, anyone telling him now only gives him a fraction of time to prepare. Besides, I believe Kira. Not only do I trust her, but she’s proven herself time and time again to be an excellent judge of character, intent, and truth. If she says she trusts this woman, then I’ll trust her.” She starts walking towards the shuttle’s location. “Now either we stand about bickering or we get on that transport and go end this threat once and for all.”

Major Komnemos seems to internally shift gears before she readjusts her pack “You heard the lady, Havoc, we’d best get a move on. Got us a war to win.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Her XO, Captain Dorne shouts “Havoc Squad, let’s go.” As they leave the sharp pillars and obelisks behind no one speaks, the pressure they’d been feeling the entire mission just rose higher.


	10. The Kind of Friends You Keep, Part One: An Alliance, Forged Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pol arrives at the war camp of the Coalition Against Revan (final name pending). It ends up being an explosive start to a long day of reunions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will arrive when it's finished, sorry.

Pol hadn’t arrived with the rest of the Coalition forces, instead taking a detour through Kuat to drop off the  _ Crimson Hawk _ for a refit while she was on Yavin IV. Somehow, she and T7 managed to catch a transport heading by the system that would drop them off with the fleet. The captain really started having second thoughts when they saw both Imperial battlecruisers and Republic carriers coasting side to side but, as Pol reminded them, a deal was a deal. Making it to the surface wasn’t that big of a deal, the base camp was far enough from any Revanite emplacements for anti-air cannons to be a problem, the worst that happened while Pol and T7 fell through the atmosphere was the turbulence buffeting the Republic gunship’s wings.

The Coalition camp is a mess, hastily assembled camo netting and the kind of division that makes each side still feel at war greets the Jedi Master as she touches down. T7 does their best to be impartial in their descriptions, but she can practically feel the distaste for their “allies” in each beep and squeak that they make. The Force shifts, ebbing and flowing around and within so many people, both sensitive and not, that somehow Pol doesn’t feel she really needs her little narrator, the Force speaks for itself in this place. The thing she hadn’t expected, though, was the winds of pure  _ Dark Side _ that color every second she is there. It was like Korriban again, a place filled with fear and hatred and schemes so old they built the ruins she stumbles around—sometimes she swears she can even hear ghosts wailing.

The War Room, Command Center, whatever they call the dinky holoprojector and mishmash of Republic and Imperial technology, sits in neutral ground between the two war camps, the perfect analogy for their “coalition.” If an assassin wanted to cut the heads off the Republic and Imperial militaries at the same time, this would be where their ill-advised strike would land. Pol senses Master Shan, radiating certainty like a beacon next to her son’s smaller lighthouse. Lana’s there, like a quiet ripple only visible in the tumult of power if you know who to look for, probably going over information on her datapad. She makes Pol smile just a little thinking about that. There are others, an oddly calm maelstrom of dark energies that both comforts and jars the senses, smaller blips that could only be non-sensitive support staff, a ghost of a feeling like the smell of lavender on her bedroom’s windowsill, and…

It  _ feels _ so much like her, like if a body had this piece of them  _ missing _ , a gaping little shard of void that doesn’t fester anymore. Pol almost calls out “ _ Kira?!” _ It even starts to make its way out her lips when she notes the differences. For one, this Child has a  _ lot _ more darkness swirling and entwining with the very not Kira-approved electric purple and ultramarine tendrils that jump and jolt across their flesh. The fact that they are behind one of the consoles doing their best “I’m not here” impression doesn’t help; why no one else did anything about them makes Pol just a tiny bit uneasy.

“Pol!” Lana and Satele echo each other as they greet her, both turning to the other in perhaps a little shade of alarm and suspicion. The blind Jedi curls her lip just a bit, it was kind of cute in its own way.

“Hello everyone, hope I didn’t miss the party already.” She drawls. “I’d hate to think you four stopped the Emperor without me.”

“Nah” Theron sighs “we just got rid of my great-great-something-or-other. Didn’t think you’d want to bother with such a small fry.” The look Satele shoots her son doesn’t need to be seen for Pol to know it happens

The cowled hero shifts her sightless sockets from person to person “So, what are we up against?” Lana takes the opportunity to head everything off

“Well, Pol, we’re doing our best to set up a perimeter before serious recon efforts begin, but the scouts we’ve sent out indicate both Revanite and native resistance. What scans our ships can make from the other side of Yavin indicate at least one base for the Revanites, a ways north of our position. It should also be of note that a few of the temple structures appear to also be active and everyone present has sensed vast amounts of dark side energies flowing to and from them.”

Pol cocks her head “So, basically, we’ve got our work cut out for us?” Before she can continue, Darth Marr shifts—probably putting up a hand—and his deep voice rumbles out of the speakers in his mask “We, in fact, have a means of dealing with that.” He shifts his stance to indicate the hidden person “When we found out about the ruins, I decided to call in an expert, someone powerful enough to brave the ruins and with enough resources to ensure she succeeds without our input.” Master Shan’s breath catches in her throat.

“Hello everyone” her voice is clipped, a little bit High Imperial and a little bit the amalgam that Jedi end up with “Some of you don’t know me so I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is-“ Master Shan’s lightsaber ignites in a trembling hum

“What in the blazes are you doing here!? Marr, what is this madness?”

Before the bulky Councilor can respond the newcomer intervenes “Master, I’m… I know what happened and what you must think of me, but-“

“Think of you? Think of you! Nira, you’ve killed so many, delighted in it if your words on the  _ Talon _ were true! You’ve fallen so far that even what Syo told us didn’t seem possible, despite how some of us hoped…” Pol has only felt Satele this distraught once, after the raid on the Temple as she grieved and burned over the loss of the younglings.

“I… There’s more to that then what you think, I wasn’t myself!” 

The two pillars of Force energy clash over the holoprojector, Theron ducking and rolling to cover like his life depended on it, which it probably did all things considered. Satele dances over the projector to come up on Nira’s flank, going low to complete the trick that Pol had fallen for when they'd first dueled. Nira is either a master duelist or had fought Master Shan before because she blocks it almost as if by instinct and floats away while barking “Don’t interfere Marr, let me handle this!”

Satele doesn’t hesitate in following, dashing towards her opponent with the grace of a far younger woman, honed with experience and a dash of age into a fine weapon. Nira is clearly forced on the defensive, parrying the double-bladed saber with her single orange-bronze blade and trying to get distance. “Master Shan, would you  _ please _ listen to me?!” The younger woman yells. “I’m not the same woman you met on the  _ Talon _ !” Her foot takes a gamble and kicks just shy of one of the emitters while her saber is busy clashing with the other end. Pol has to keep herself from interfering, if Nira didn’t want Darth Marr intervening who knows what she would say to Pol meddling in their affairs.

“Lies!” Satele spits. “I know what you are Nira, and whatever person you might have been was subsumed by the Emperor  _ long _ ago.” A vortex of force centers in her palm, condensing to a point and then lancing outwards towards Nira, she isn’t given time to block. The swirling essence of purple and blue melds with the teal of Satele as she is blasted back into the crumbling masonry that rings the meeting place, Pol hears the soft crunch from her place in the center over the noise. She can’t let this continue.

Satele raises her arm, reeling back to throw her saber and impale the other woman, a coup de grace for this short, intense fight. It flies, like a bird weaving through the jungle, towards her target, nothing will stop the inevitable. 

Blades clash, spark and rebel against each other before careening. Pol pulls the Force into a blanket around her legs and  _ moves _ . She’s between the two before Satele’s saber can return to her hand, hands outstretched and pleading.

“Master! Listen to yourself! Think for a moment, if she wanted to kill you or any of us she very well would have earlier. In fact, if you hadn’t noticed, your entire duel she never attacked you, only parried or deflected. Is that the style of a remorseless killer? Is that how someone under the Emperor’s thrall acts? You  _ know _ that isn’t true because if it was you would have tried to strike down Kira a long, long time ago.” Pol reaches out further. “Stop this, let her finish speaking.”

Satele’s eyes shine like the ice on Ilum—not that Pol can see it through the Force—but nevertheless the Grand Master of the Jedi Order lowers her saber, deactivating its chilly blue beams and clipping the ornate hilt to her side. “Fine, but the moment she makes a move I will not hesitate.” Her usually harsh voice carries something more, something deep and painful, wrapped up in guilt and loathing then buried deep beneath her façade. Pol sees it as a writhing, ethereal knife up to the hilt in her side. It takes several seconds, and Pol’s help, but Nira eventually makes it to her feet and faces the gathered leaders. Pol gets the impression Nira’s face looks sheepish.

“I’m sorry…” She begins. “I’m sorry to everyone that I worried you and interrupted this important meeting, it’s not what I’d envisioned happening.” Her chuckle is offset by the hack that bubbles up at the end. Her back tries to straighten as she continues

“My name is Nira Sur, Head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and, as you can surmise, a Child of the Emperor. I was once a Jedi, long ago, but after encountering a Sith Spirit the dormant persona that the Emperor grafted… awoke prematurely. For years she… _I_ , clawed her way up the Sith hierarchy as a bloodthirsty psychopath who’s only goal was murder and mayhem.” She coughs a wracking sob of a cough. “If it wasn’t for a tiny bit of sanity locked away inside my head I would still _be_ that horrible monster that you encountered on the _Black Talon_ … As it is,  I’m not here as an Imperial, a Sith, a Jedi or a Child—although given the chance I would  _ love _ to repay Him for everything He’s done—but as an archaeologist. If you’re willing, I will bend my formidable powers as a Force-user and scholar towards these tombs in the hopes that whatever dark rituals they’re doing either aren’t related to this attempt to bring back Father or can be stopped if they are.”

Nira bends a little as her knees try to give out, a hand going to her forehead, “My, that was harder to admit than I thought…” Pol moves to catch her, cupping her arms with her own and supporting the slender frame wrapped in quilted padding. As the others start to move again Pol’s hand, as if possessed, moves to sate her curiosity and trace Nira’s face. The blind Jedi nearly recoils, lines and marks occasionally dot her face, true, but under her calloused fingers she can touch the veins of corruption only beginning to heal across the porcelain skin. Pol knows that her eyes must look just as terrible like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to have the Coalition arc be this sort of first great meeting of all (well, ok, most) of the major players in the future story arcs, as Lana puts it in KOTFE "a sort of 'round one' for this Alliance." (ok, so I can't recall nor want to bother looking up the exact quote, you get it though...)
> 
> This, of course, has its upsides... and its downsides, as demonstrated here...


	11. Death of the World: A Surik's Requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashes fall on lifeless worlds...
> 
> Everything ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... ... ...

Ziost dies.

“No…”

Death swept over it in an inexorable tidal wave, embracing all into its cold, heartless bosom. It crackled, crinkled,  _ sizzled _ as everything died. She can feel it, smell it, touch it, all of it—it’s  _ too much! _ The broken woman sinks to her knees, deaf as well as blind.

Their screams, so many screams, it’s unbearable. When she felt a world burn, all those lifetimes ago, there were still some little sparks left, little pinpricks of light in the sudden void that ate her. There is nothing here but dust and memory. Nothing here but death and the screams of the uneaten.

Ashes to Ashes; the vibrant, rich world packed full of all kinds, all zests, of life becomes desolate before her sightless vision. She can see it all, though, every last detail. Women and children, husbands and wives, soldiers and civilians, Republic and Imperial, criminals and nobles, Jedi and Sith, beggars holding their last meal and one last hug before it’s goodbye… A young Padawan praying one last time as she is taken… They’re all imprinted in her head, forever. An unsealable scar, it is indescribable; Dust to Dust.

She can’t recognize the concern, the yells, can’t hear Kira sobbing for a padawan— _ her _ padawan—that was just minutes too late; or the kind, gentle woman who holds her tight. Can’t notice the station, the last bit of life on Ziost, shake and creak as if coming apart. Can’t feel her knees hit the deck, body gone limp without a light to control it. Can’t hear the wailing, echoing through the walls, or the spectral howling calling out through the void. Can’t feel anything. Ziost dies right in front of her.

She’d been too late, they’d all been too late—Theron, the Sixth Line, Lana, Kira… everyone. All they did, all they  _ tried _ to do, and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, not when millions, billions,  _ trillions _ screamed and went suddenly… silent. She can’t stop shaking. The surface of Ziost burns as it shrivels dry.

Life, riven and rent from bodies, not even souls left as the planet it  _ consumed _ . It will never be enough. She feels  _ Him _ pull at her spirit, yearning for her morsel, too. It’s too much to bear, too much for her…

_ “Ashes raining on lifeless worlds. Everything ends…” _

Hands pull at her, embrace her. Soothing comes to the tremors. The voice echoes, bells deep within her, it remembers for that which cannot. Her ancestor’s ghost wraps right around the broken shell, she whispers.

_ “I mourn, Flesh of my Flesh. All these things and more have been lost. Know that all you have done, all that you do, has saved as many as you could. Remember that… It is  _ not _ over. Come, Daughter of my Daughters. It is  _ not _ over.” _

Her ancestor— _ the Living Force _ —buoys her, lifts the blind and shattered hero up and onto her feet, ensconced in the warm, spectral embrace the whole time. She is not alone as Ziost dies. She is not alone as the planet becomes alone, empty, a shell, a weathered tomb of things left perpetually undone.

Pol Surik, descendant of Meetra Surik and Visas Marr, is not alone. Theron holds her alongside her ancestor… It will do for now.

“I’m sorry…”

Ziost has died.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.  
> Wow.
> 
> Watching the death of Ziost, both the first time and subsequent, brings me to tears. I find it an emotionally charged moment, made more so after playing mission after mission trying to go in and save as many people as you can and having to cut down innocent after innocent because Vitiate gives you no choice. I really wanted to bring that into my writing, I hope I even partially succeeded.


	12. Nocturnal Strolls: An Alliance, Forged Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Pol take a nice constitutional stroll through the murky swamp. It's mostly to catch up, the necessities are really just secondary...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For me, I picture Lana, Theron and Pol as a sort of Three Musketeers(like all the Star Wars films, the core of the emotional plot). Lana's the dour one, Theron's the cynical one and Pol's the special glue that keeps the them from mistrusting each other. We'll see more of Theron and Pol interacting later (or before, depending on what else I write in Shadow of Revan) but here we get a look into Lana and Pol's dynamic.

They walk together in the dim light, the traffic like constellations overhead. It’s cold, not unlike the forests of Tython at night, were it not for the unsettling feeling of oppression that hides within the mist. She’s always been better with nature; the more unadulterated  _ life _ surrounding her the more detail she can pick out. It almost feels like how Kira describes “seeing.” They walk arm in arm, just in case, the wiry, lithe Jedi and the supple, stocky Sith on a nighttime stroll through the Endless Swaps. There’s… a lot. Five years, more had happened in just over that than happened in a decade of the last war. Pol wishes she had tear ducts to cry with.

It’s leisurely, both the walk and the talk, and it winds and weaves like thread through the eerie wilderness. It’s been a long time, felt only in moments and confused flashes of premonition tainted by  _ His _ opinion. Pol leans on her pilfered pike and breaths in the musky air

“Are you alright Pol?”

Lana. Sweet, sensitive Lana. The thought of Kira flashes through Pol’s mind and makes her heart ache, her legs quiver for a moment.

“Mmm, yes, I’ll be fine. Just… being reminded…” she laughs “and the carbon freezing eating away at me doesn’t help either.” 

The look of deadpan judgement and the non-committal “alright” drives Lana’s point home harder than any speech could. 

They’re out here to find provisions, water namely—HK is rather keen on gathering food by himself—but really it’s just pretext, an excuse for two old comrades/friends/whatever the hell they were to catch up. For some reason this isn’t making Pol nervous.

“So where were we again? You said so much and the last time I asked you assured me that wasn’t even the half of it.” Pol snorts. “I can’t wait to hear part two…” Lana giggles, actually giggles, alongside her friend before answering

“Well, I believe I was telling you about the end of the war… Most of the Dark Council fell or disappeared by the time Arcann’s forces blockaded Dromund Kaas. The only one left when the dust settled was the head of the Sphere of Technology, Darth Acina—Empress now, actually.” Pol interrupts

“And what about Nira, the head of ‘Ancient Mysteries’ or whatever she called it—we met on Yavin IV. Kira was quite fond of her…” She’s a little surprised when she feels the shift in the calm waters Lana projects.

“Ah… Darth Nox, you mean? It’s the ‘Sphere of Ancient Knowledge,’ by the way. I, in fact, don’t know where she went. After we defeated Revan, Darth Nox said she would stay with the mop-up forces and ‘plumb the depths of these mysteries’ if I recall correctly. As soon as the Eternal Empire showed up she went completely off the grid, I haven’t the foggiest idea of where she’s gone or what she’s doing.” Lana pauses for breath. “As for the rest, I know Ravage is alive, sadly, and doing nothing much at all; my agents tell me Darth Vowrawn is most likely somewhere on Athiss, probably still trying to keep the Empire from falling apart at the seams, I imagine. I don’t have any solid information on the rest, not that there were a lot of them left by the time of Zakuul’s blitz anyways.” The stoic woman seems somber, almost as if she regrets something.

“Wow I… Wait, why is Ravage ‘sadly’ alive? I’ll admit Sith politics isn’t my forte, but what did he do to get on  _ your _ bad side?”

“Besides being terrible at his job?” Lana ponders the question, “Well, where even to begin? He is xenophobic, nepotistic, needlessly warmongering, unpleasant to speak to, perpetually angry and, according to Darth—Empress, sorry—Acina, an absolute bore at parties. Really” she chuckles “what more would I need to say?”

“You know,” the blind Jedi grins, “someday I’m going to get you drunk and talk about your love life…” Lana practically backpedals

“Oh no you don’t! You wouldn’t dare.” Her tone reassures Pol that she’s taking the comment as lighthearted, joking, which it half was. “I never said I was involved with Acina in  _ any _ way other than professional!”

“Mmhmm…” Pol can’t stop the cock-eyed smirk from infecting her face

“Regardless,” Lana brushes on, “there’s much more to discuss…” The conversation flows on from there, covering what news a master spy could gather and retain over five years. By the time they find a source of clean water Lana has come to the present, or what parts of it she wishes to share, and Pol straddles a well-shaped rock as she comes to the hard questions. 

“Have you heard anything about my crew? Anything at all?” There’s hope mixed with weary despair in her words, as if she holds onto a tiny flame in the hopes that it won’t go out despite all prior evidence.

“Actually, yes, I have at least some idea where most of your allies are. Sir Eckrin is the easiest to find, having hung up his sword and retired back to his estate on Pelagon to be with his family.” She pauses. “As for Ms. Owen, I believe she joined the Protectors shortly after you disappeared. They’ve been highly active with disaster and war-related relief on both sides, something Saresh of course did not take kindly to. Currently, the outfit is considered ‘renegade’ although GSI has, naturally, taken them under its wing. The one I know about least is Scourge, the man is a mystery.”

At this, Pol snorts “To you and me both.”

Lana simply takes it in stride “Almost immediately after you vanished he up and did the same, gone without a trace. I certainly don’t have the resources to track him down after the fall of Intelligence.” She clears her throat, something Pol certainly notices. “You’ve already found out what T7 has been up to, which brings me to Kira…” If Pol could see, she would notice the light blush on the blonde woman’s features. “I have, in fact, been in contact with her, although not recently. Last we spoke she was leading a resistance movement out here, mainly Jedi and others who feel as she does, and were mostly just being a nuisance while they gained followers. She talked about you a lot…” Her momentum seems to falter, trail off as thoughts and memories are left unsaid. Pol doesn’t feel like pressing.

“I miss her too. Even after she left to train Ettin, we always stayed in constant contact, or as near as you can get on planets like Makeb, for instance. When we met up to fight Revan it felt… it felt good—honestly I don’t know if that even expresses the feeling right—to work side by side with her. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until then. Did you know she was there, when the Fleet attacked?” Lana only nods, “Wanted to make sure I got on ‘safe.’ Last thing I told her was to cut and run, didn’t even think to say ‘goodbye’ or ‘see you soon’...”

The two women are quiet for a time, each lost in one thing or another, before Lana breaks it briefly “If… if I come across her in my searches, the first thing I’ll tell her is that you’re still alive.” This gets a heartfelt smile aimed directly at the Sith’s heart; it pierces it like a lightsaber pierces transparisteel. They just sit there, one gazing into the silken folds of a sightless crimson veil—Lana had felt so lucky to have “acquired” it from the Knights’ evidence lockers before her prison break.

A beep brings the two back to the here and now, HK is on the comm requesting the two rendezvous with him at their earliest convenience. With a sigh, Pol picks herself up while Lana attends to the water tank, her mind doing the work of hands not yet used to her new pouch layout. “We copy, HK, be there soon.”

_ “This day just keeps on coming, doesn’t it.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LANA IS MY GIRL! 10/10 BEST WIFU 100% ROMANCE THIS SWEET PAN GAL! DORKY SPACE POWER WIVES IN LOVE FOR ALL ETERNITY!
> 
> Note: Lana will not be romanced by Pol within this fic. I apologize.
> 
> Honestly, don't even know if Pol will end up dating anyone. Kinda haven't decided/doesn't matter at the moment...
> 
> As for her change in weapons, while I initially had her wielding the Oldereron Guardian saber (as she does in-game for me) since Rishi in Shadows of Revan, I really liked the idea that, instead, she managed to reunite with her ancestor's crystal sometime after feeling the Force call her to one of the Knight's pikes during her escape (cus I think they're soooooooo cool and wish non-staff users could have some! *grumble*).  
> Really, this is just a cry for more melee integration into all classes, period, and a revamp of the lightsaber choice system so I can have a leapy Sentinal with a pikesaber.  
> Is that too much to ask?!?


	13. The Sacking of Safety: An Alliance, Forged Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final day of Asylum begins...
> 
> (part one of two works I didn't finish until just after initially publishing the anthology. Now they're done and I want them in...)

Asylum burned.

She didn’t know it just yet, but as Pol made her fated way through the sanctum of the Scions, the Eternal Fleet moved to crest the lip of the maelstrom that hid the shadowport from prying eyes. She felt the tug of the Force at her fingertips, from her saber masquerading as her guiding stick; something was wrong within the swirling form of the sanctuary.

She does not see the bodies, but the barely contained rage that is Arcann more than made up for it. The imprint of the still warm Heskal as he hangs, impaled, on the tyrant’s blade only solidifies things. Somehow, she had known it would end like this, she just never wanted that eventuality to be true.

The scarred usurper of the Eternal Throne stalks while standing still before her, his mechanical rasp reminding Pol just how tenacious the young man is.

“I don’t leave Zakuul for just anyone. Be honored.”

“I’m guessing Heskal set this up? He was always going on about ‘getting the gang back together’...”

Arcann rasps out a mirthless laugh “And what ‘gang’ may that be, Outlander?”

“Oh, you know...” Pol chuckles “The ‘killing Valkorion’ club. Quite prestigious, I hear.”

“Hah. A club only you belong to.” Arcann makes a dramatic look towards her staff, one that is, of course, lost on Pol. “And you disrespect Zakuul’s honored traditions on top of it, the depths of your heresy knows no bounds.”

It takes Pol a second, her face showing the puzzlement briefly fogging up her mind. When she feels Arcann pull at her pikesaber the comment makes more sense—it doesn’t even budge from her assured grasp. “Oh, this?” Pol beamed, “What can I say, it just... called to me.” She knows Arcann has his saber lit, can feel the ion prickle her skin even from across the room, and with a tap against the gorgeous floor she ignites the blood red blade.  “I felt the Force suggest that I... make it more my own.”

The growl is the only physical warning she gets before Arcann launches himself at her with bloody rage. His strikes are punishing, felt all up the arm and down the spine, and his golden blade swings like an aerodynamic club as he takes the offensive. Pol’s blade meets his stroke for stroke.

The two duel among the corpses of the butchered Scions, the floor freshly sticky with blood and fresh polish—cleaned just for the occasion. Step for step, blow for blow, Pol knocks Arcann’s ankle with the butt of her pike, giving her the briefly needed distance. His rage only builds.

The usurper jumps, leads with his uninjured foot, the arc providing extra strength to his strike. His dance is easy, predictable in its rage-fueled sporadicity, like fighting an extremely deadly child. The battlemaster shifts planes, his blade flashing down the axis she was on before twisting to compensate, but she’s ready for it. Her sweep brings his gold blade up and around, twirls her opponent with his own momentum and, before he can counter, palms his exposed spine with the full might of the Force.

The pillar crumbles under the weight of her blow, Arcann imprinted in the hole she created. The raspy, metallic howl that leaves him sounds to Pol like a dying droid, but she knows he’s far from finished—they’d both battled Vitiate/Valkorian at His strongest and lived, after all.

_ “Not quite my strongest, but the point still stands.”  _ His voice is a distraction, one she cannot afford.

"Don't. Touch. ME!" 

Arcann’s screech disguises his movement, while she can “see” him with his citadel of rage, it’s not always a certain thing. The feint to her right surprises her, the roll of his ornate saber to her left leaves Pol momentarily reeling; Arcann presses the advantage. She’s on her back foot, pike gripped in both hands as she uses every inch to defend herself. She feels the  _ rush _ of combat flush through her pale skin, lets it begin to take her.

Arcann becomes confident, his strikes closer and closer to home, and his eye catches the tremble in Pol’s arms. She’s losing ground. A wild grin, one probably mirrored on her opponent’s face, spreads across Pol and if she had eyes to see they would be glittering. Arcann  _ feels _ the pulses, the warmth and joy radiating in unending waves off the blind Outlander, rising to match his own dark glee. The two dance more in sync than ever before. He falls right into her lap.

Arcann swings his blade towards her leg, hoping to weaken her for his later enjoyment, and Pol initially looks as if she moves a little too slow to counter with her own blade. The butt of her pike, once more, comes and smacks his shimmering sword away from him, her front foot sliding effortlessly out of the way as it passes. Her grin grows wider, more predatory, as her hand reaches for something at her thigh. 

The blaster bolt pierces straight through Arcann’s gut— a nice, clean, powerful shot at close quarters—and his body shakes. It was not the first time, by far, he had been shot, or even shot there, but the surprise and damage was enough for Pol to break away and regain footing before everything went to hell.

The world shakes. Masonry crumbles and falls onto the pristine floor, smashing it into broken pieces; the whole station rocks. The feeling of rounds ripping through hulls rumbles through their ears and feet, someone was attacking Asylum. Arcann grins underneath the mask. “WHAT HAVE YOU-?” Pol yells before a resounding  _ crash _ shakes the very foundations of the sanctuary. A breach to the outside opens to reveal a sky full of ships, pinpricks fleeing the giant behemoths raining blue fire down upon all before them. The debris from the dropship’s crash explodes through the room in the same instant, sending Arcann flying to be buried underneath the rubble. Pol takes the opportunity provided.

She runs.

  
  


Heskal’s body is being dragged, limp, through the threshold of his tomb, Pol will not stand for it. She leaps, plunging her blade deep before ripping it out of the helm of one of the black-clad Knights, simultaneously putting a round through the gut of another. The sheer force of power is too much for the final, poor Knight; he managed to extend his blade before his arm flies off amidst pained screaming.

Heskal lies there, the fatal wound still emitting small embers even after so long. She feels him let his last sparks of life slip through his fingers.

“A-ahhh… A new thread weaves through Fate’s tapestry… as I foresaw.”

“I know.”

“All this… was necessary. You see. The Scions” he coughs, long and rasping “remain your allies still. Each of them… will return… when it is time…” he wheezes his final breaths “to die.”

“I know. Thank you, rest in peace, now.”

“Th-ank…” His eyes turn as sightless as hers

Heskal dies.

  
  


The  _ Gravestone _ is still parked, moored to the battered station, and Pol can only groan at the unwelcome revelation. She and T7 had rushed through the winding paths to make it to safety, detouring only to rally a cadre of scared and cowering citizens of Asylum to their banner. They had taken little convincing after the two so handily dispatched the Sky Troopers and Knights closing in on them.

Now an even greater, more frustrating problem faced her. Their ship, the only thing to go toe-to-toe with the Eternal Fleet, is under siege. Barricades made of scrap and scavenged parts from the dock hem in the ramp, a makeshift barrier against the waves of Sky Troopers advancing on their position. Koth’s crew, a few dock workers, Tanno Vik and what's left of his gang hold the line against dozens of troopers, the robotic soldiers moving and firing in perfect cohesion to pin the motley crew in their place.

Pol rushes, but does not make it fast enough. A blonde blur speeds up and over the barricade to shatter the lines of troopers with the force of her fall. Lana works her saber with the heart of a bastion, slight and efficient swings taking apart droid after droid as the Sith sweeps through their ranks. Pol reaches her as the last pile of scrap hits the deck.

“We have problems.”

_ “No fracking way, really?!” _ Pol snips “I didn’t realize  _ you _ were having problems, I thought it was only me! Please tell me the Hyperdrive still works…”

Her eyes narrow “Yes, SCORPIO fixed it. Our problem is that Arcann’s forces locked the docking clamps. We’re trapped.”

“Force preserve us! And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse after he ambushed me!”

“Damn.” Lana spit. “Tell me you killed him, please? HK and Koth are en route to the Control Spire but they’ll need our help if Arcann’s here.”

“Before we go” Pol turns and yells “EVERYONE! GET IN THE SHIP! THOSE WHO CAN FIGHT GRAB A BLASTER AND GET TO THE BARRICADE!”

The huddled cluster of civilians rush for the ship, those brave enough to stand alongside the defenders grabbing blasters from the fallen droids before rushing through the briefly parted barricade. As it seals behind the last person, Len barks out to Lana “Don’t worry,  _ Gravestone’s _ in good hands!” He flexes a muscle to prove his point “Go get our Captain, Blondie!” The world loses all sound.

Lana turns, achingly slow, as her eyes begin to drill holes through Len’s. Pol can feel the purple-dark  _ fury _ lashing out like ethereal whips towards the poor man, Lana’s gaze cuts the air. “I meant… Miss Beniko…” Len is left sweating barbells as Lana turns on her heel with a tiny “ _ himpf”  _ as she moves to lead her friends on their mission. It is not something she gets far with.

Valyin arrives, their exit suddenly blocked.

Her voice remains smooth, sultry, as if talking pleasantly over dinner, but her words are anything but.

“Yooooouu weren’t very nice to my brother… Now we have to kill your friends.”

Her fist sends the Force screeching across the dock, slamming into one of Koth’s crew and sending her flying towards the swirling precipice. It’s only Len’s quick thinking that keeps her from tumbling off fully into the abyss, his strong arm anchoring her to safety while Ralo and one of the residents rush to her aid. Vaylin smiles her toothy grin. “See?”

“I wonder if you’ll prove more of a challenge than Arcann did.”

“Ooooooh” Vaylin cooed, “ _ you’ve _ got a crush on me!”

The comment causes the blind woman to blunder, blushing, reeling and self-doubting her opponent’s words just as she drew out the handle of a petite, yet equally ornate, lightsaber. Neither is given time, however, as from out of the  _ Gravestone’s _ hanger, a white and blue figure bullrushes the Knights who had accompanied Vaylin and had peeled off to surround the barricade in the tense silence. Senya cuts down the other Knights with brutal efficiency before vaulting the barricade and slamming herself, bodily, into her daughter.

“Go!” the stern mother barked to the three, “See to the others. This is a family matter…” Her stance radiates stoic certainty as she turns her blade on the High Justice.

The battle is far from over.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo yeah, Pol uses blasters, too. In game I play her as a Sentinal, although she never uses two blades, and when I was planning out her transformation from the end of SoR to KOTFE I decided on a much more "fencing"-style look for her. She initially wore the Exiled Knight set, more or less verbatim, along with Visas's cowl, but I thought it would be really cool if she went much more in a "pirate" direction come the time skip (after loosing her belongings and all) putting on the Visas Marr chest and belt while replacing her armored gloves with Canderous's fingerless ones and her pants for slightly more armored... pants. Would have put her in a fancy skirt that looked like a bunch of expensive rugs wrapped around each other but instead, pants...  
> The fact that the pants I chose in-game ended up having two Blade Runner looking blasters strapped to her thighs was, really, an added bonus. One that is carried over into this.
> 
> When I was playing this chapter for the first time (as Pol, because why not) when I came across the huddled group of refugees being assaulted by the Sky Troopers I was instantly like "Ooooooo! More people to take in!" But the game said "Nah. Can't do that fam." So I say "F* you" to that and did it anyway.
> 
> There! Take that game! XP  
> 
> 
> Also, when reviewing the in-game dialogue to put in for this, when I came across Vaylin's "you've got a crush on me" line, I thought "wouldn't it be funny if it was also true?"  
> So yeah, haven't played KOTET or finished KOTFE yet (game hates me playing with an older graphics card with any setting other than butt-low, plus writing spree) so I don't know what could possibly come of that, but I'm willing to entertain it, for kicks and giggles. Not like she ever has to act on it, after all...
> 
> (P.S: for those epee fans out there, I love you and wish I was better at it, but have my treat if you catch it in the fic...)


	14. Self-Sacrifice Protocols: HK's Aria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of the greatest among us...
> 
> (part two of two works I didn't finish until just after initially publishing the anthology. Now they're done and I want them in...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meatbags, let us cry our meatbag tears...
> 
> (Author's Note: Read the opening line as if she's Luke watching Ben Kenobi die. Her words have that cadence)

_ “NO!” _

He tumbles, there would be a grin on his face if he had one. HK’s body collapses to the floor of the Control Spire in a brilliant flash of orange electricity. “M...as...ter…” The sparking, dying corpse of a true friend wimpers. Arcann will  _ pay _ .

“RrrrraAAAAAGH!”

Pol screams, her pike-less hands shooting out as if accusing the Butcher Emperor of the most heinous crimes, and  _ unleashes _ . Writhing, arcing tendrils of deep purple and blue electricity expel themselves from her outstretched palms, lancing towards her target with the sum of all her sorrow and rage.

The sheer  _ force _ of it, the raw power, courses through and around and out Arcann, spiking through the transparisteel and out into the howling winds, Pol doesn’t care. She doesn’t think that, maybe, she could be harming innocents who are trying desperately to flee the falling station, or that her powers could overwhelm her. He screams now, too.

“ _ Yes, let out your _ rage _ …”  _ The monster in her head begs. She doesn’t care, the only thing that matters is HK’s sparking corpse next to her. Her swirling power only intensifies. Electricity runs up and down Arcann’s body, winding around his robes and making his robotic half shiver and twitch like HK did, but it’s not enough. Arcann lets the pain, his pain and hers, flow through him, bolstering him with ever fried nerve and spasming muscle. He retaliates.

The blast of Force energies is primal, powerful, and decidedly  _ his; _ Pol doesn’t have the mental faculties to resist or counter, all she can do is be swept up in his torrent. She flies backwards, landing with a thud among some crates near her pike and severed blaster—she  _ needs _ them again. As Arcann rushes to finish her, Pol pulls her saber to her and launches the remains of her pistol as a paltry distraction, one which Arcann handily counters, so that she has the time to plot a course and roll out of the slashing golden death. Her legs are shaky.

Arcann presses her, pushes her, dominates her. His strokes, normally something she can deflect or parry, are simply too strong for the weakened Jedi to effectively handle. She’s driven back, towards the edge of the suspended catwalk with her doom waiting, assuredly, below. Her mind races in panic, searching for ways to make it out of there alive.

_ “I can help you. Let me help you…” _ Valkorian’s soft, smooth whisper sounds so enticing right now.  _ “Only together can we defeat my son…” _

She feels herself giving in, about to let the Emperor take control and blast who cares what into utter oblivion, slag whatever consequences. Her brain slows, or perhaps speeds up past lightspeed, as Arcann’s blade makes its way towards her tender flesh. She’s given precious moments to decide.  _ “Choose…” _ His mumbled mantra over their time together has her slipping, letting that easy power tempt her. Something gives.

The world snaps into focus, she doesn’t have the time. She jumps away from the blade, just as she senses Lana rushing into the room, and she rears to strike, but to no avail. Arcann pulls her forward, his waiting lightsaber the pole to spike her on, and lets it sink deep into her flesh. Pol howls.

“Feel that, Father?”

Suddenly, all the fight leaves her. All Pol can do now is focus her considerable energies and training on  _ surviving _ . Lana, ringing hollow and distant in her pounding ears, yells something and she feels Arcann’s grip and his saber leave her as he flies far, far away…

Pol collapses to the ground, the pain is intense. She doesn’t hear T7 beep from the command console, barely feels when Lana gingerly grabs her shoulder,  _ “Pol, can you hear me…?” _ Despite how far away her voice sounds, Pol manages to answer

“I’ve taken… worse… than that. I’ll be fine, just…” She winces as her wobbling legs falter

“Let’s get you out of here, we don’t have time for anything else.”

“But…!” Pol’s face suddenly turns paler than the full moons over her homeworld. “H… K…” Lana can only bite back her bitterest response

“There’s no time. I’m sorry, we have to leave him.”

“No…” Is all Pol can think before her vision begins to swim.

The trio—Lana, Pol, and T7—limp back to Koth’s commandeered shuttle. Lana practically has to carry Pol, the slightly shorter and lighter woman nonetheless proving to be a handful even on her own two feet, as T7 lags behind. They make it into the ship, the ramp door fully closing by the time Koth has it speeding towards their haven. The shuttle rocks and rolls with the buffeting of wind and turbolaser discharge. Pol barely registers the extra—and previously not present—rattle of scrap parts near her.

They make it to the  _ Gravestone _ just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pour one out for our boi, fam.
> 
> So yeah, I (as of writing this) haven't ever mentioned Pol's little... quirk, have I... She can shoot lightning from her fingers, without Vitiate's powers. Pol, for me, is definitely a Grey Jedi (if that wasn't clear already) and was taught from a young age that it doesn't really matter what powers you use, so long as how you use them is for a cause you believe is right. She's always had this power, she never "fell" to get it or has it as a side-effect of her thralldom under Vitiate, same with things like Force Choke (the minute I found out about the SI's legacy power I was hoooooooked). This was the first power she manifested, actually, shorting out her nanny droid while she was a toddler (since I doubt this will ever come up in any fics I'll write, I might as well put this actually unimportant detail here because I can).
> 
> Pol only willingly uses Valkorion's help when she realizes she can't save someone unless she does. For instance, she didn't use her powers in the battle with Heskal (another part probably never to be written about here as I stick to the "let's go along with it" route from in-game) but did give in when Lana got trapped by the Knights while escaping Zakuul. Losing friends or loved ones is kind of Pol's tempting point...  
> It's why things like Ziost affect her even more deeply than they would otherwise (since, y'know, a planet being consumed by ultimate evil right before your eyes is definitely something that would cause permanent psychological damage to any Force-sensitive creature. Miraluka even more so."


	15. Friends in One Place: A Commander's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Alliance is Forged...
> 
> (Sorry, just had to make that pun...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, love the Alliance (at least so far, I'm still playing KOTFE with Pol right now so it's possible things could go belly up... no spoils please! I have to do enough of that in this fic already to figure out how to use the bloody characters the way I want to!)  
> The Alliance Alert system has proven to be a lot of fun (although beating the arena to get my favorite Wookie bartender still eludes me...) and I really want to flesh out even more the various Alliance Specialists and the rest of the base staff... really get up close and personal with this rebellion.
> 
> Stories for another time, I think...

It’s… _beautiful._ Lush, boreal forest as far as the eye, no, as far as _can_ be. It almost feels like it would sully a place like this to build a base in it. The universe is alight with life and Pol has to catch her breath and fight back a sob at just how much it affects her. She’s missed this for far, far too long. Lana’s beside her, concern radiating off her in wiggling waves and Pol moves to smile, assuring her it’s fine, but the smile she gives is keenly wistful.

“Pol…?”

“Sorry, just… there’s so much _life_ …”

“Oh!” The Sith blinks. “Yes, I’m sorry, I forgot…” she fidgets “it must be nice, being able to perceive so much all at once.”

The blind Miralukan nods into the distance “Yes. It’s—I love it.” Her smile blazes trails as the _Gravestone_ finishes its descent.

The outcropping itself isn’t that deep, just enough to precariously perch the dig team, their basic equipment and little else. It needs work, it really needs a leader, but at least now they have a ship to house people and non-essential gear, temporarily, should the need arise. If anything, it actually makes Pol feel excited. She doesn’t need T7 to describe the scene before her, everything shines so bright even the machines give off sensations. The small team is diverse: miners and engineers and laborers from all species and walks of life, a lone mercenary off in her corner with an odd little friend, a Mystic surrounded by her personal guard meditating beside the unpenetrated entry point, a hulking brute of a man lugging stacks of crates as if they were training weights. Pol turns to Lana, “Been awhile since we’ve had this many characters all in one place.” There’s a wry smile hidden from Pol on the other woman’s face.

“Since Yavin, yes. It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it?”

"Well then, time to make it even better!” As soon as the ship starts to halt, Pol yelps and vaults herself bodily from the hangar and onto the rocky grass, the Force providing where her muscles couldn’t.

The work crew is, naturally, a little surprised to have a woman suddenly land amongst them, even if they were expecting her and knew her face. Without ceremony, without preamble, Pol feels the touch of the Force guide her to the drill, her hand moved to the right buttons to make it stamp its mark upon the world. As it whirls to life, moving to pierce the virgin soil, Pol moves herself to a heroic position atop a small jutting clod of dirt just off of the center of camp. She knows what she wants to say. “I would like your attention please.” The drill dies down as the first of her new Alliance gather around the sightless visionary

“The galaxy as we knew it, is gone. The institutions we knew have fallen. But we can’t let that be a source of panic or defeat. We have an opportunity to build something—an alliance each of us can be vested in.” She pauses for a dramatic breath. “We don’t all share the same ideologies, but every one of us is here because we believe we can transcend our differences. Either we succeed together, or fail alone.”

“Let’s not fail.” Her final line is delivered with a witty, charming, lovable smirk that gets an appreciative and tension-easing laugh; even Leaders can make a dark joke.

The work is hard, even working on just their rudimentary initial designs it proves slow going. For one, the rock they are digging into is hard, deep and filled with all kinds of surprises—the nest full of small, albino rodent-like creatures is Pol’s favorite. The contingent of Force-users comes in handy though, Pol can name at least a dozen times when one person or another is saved from injury or worse by the Jedi or Sith or other, more “wild” practitioner at their side. She has to remind herself not to think of the non-Jedi or Sith practitioners as “wild” every so often… It’s a small crew, no more than thirty people counting the inhabitants of the _Gravestone_ , and by the end of the week Pol feels like she knows all of them by heart. There’s a real feeling of camaraderie amongst the crew, sharing drinks and hard labor pulling the myriad personalities together more than any speech or family dinner could. By the time the base starts really looking like a livable place the motley crew of civilian, military and others gets the feeling that, yes, this _will_ work.

With a few gun emplacements to make sure it feels secure and a basic place to stay on-site, more people start arriving. Pol ends up being away for most of it, having taken the time to go visit her family discreetly and pick up Theron on her way back. The place is buzzing with activity by the time their shuttle lands. It had been a good ride, with Theron, five years had done a lot to the man but having T7 describe him wearing his old, ratty jacket made it feel like no time had passed at all. The two old friends chatted the whole ride back, swapping little stories and tidbits from when they’d been apart—almost like two old grannies talking about their grandchildren.

There’s a new landing pad when the two arrive on Odessen, Pol notices that there’s a person—Lana, actually—standing on what should be thin air as their shuttle banks towards it under Theron’s steady hand. The two decide to step out, arm in arm, and as they come into view of Lana, Theron cocks his head Pol’s way “Shan and Marr, at it again!” Pol laughs and reciprocates with a gesture of her own

“Marr and Shan, the ones who were left behind arrive just in time!”

Lana is secretly amused.

  
The War Room still feels a little barren, half complete. Most of the important stuff is bunched in a corner of the medium-sized cavern while some token banners hang, mostly for the effect. The people gathered around a frankly frazzled Theron are… colorful, to say the least.

Pol’s never met Bay’wen Aygo before then, the Bothan man introducing himself to the gathering with a crisp salute and his, albeit former, rank. Their Military Advisor had actually been on site for a few days, bringing Lana and the other important people up to speed with what he could about the challenges facing them. Doctor Oggurobb is a sight for sore eyes though, the humorously bombastic scientist-genius always makes Pol actively try not to laugh with every other statement; he’s probably the only Hutt Pol could get along with, if she’s being honest. Their Science Advisor had arrived of his own accord just as Pol was leaving, bringing with him about two government-grade labs worth of equipment on a caravan of repulsorsleds—she’d been glad to have missed out on helping with _that_ unpacking—and had made himself quite at home in the interim. The Mystic who had been with the work crew, Sana-Rae, gives Pol a serene smile, her presence radiating clarity and stillness through the Force. Their Mystical Advisor brought with her a heavy entourage—although almost none had been involved in the digging, Pol noted—and currently made up a good half of the base’s security forces. The last advisor is actually two people, both Mirialans with similar skin tone, markings and stance.

“Hylo Visz. Sure you heard of me. Broke the toughest blockade in Galactic history? Republic’s greatest outlaw hero, basically.” Her cocky tone is only matched by the person next to her

“Greatest? Babe, I think you’ve forgotten who you’re married to. Who’s the person who recovered Nok Drayen’s lost treasure, ransacked _The King’s Ransom_ , bested the Voidwolf in _single combat_ , AND was there when you broke the Hydian Blockade?” Hylo gives her wife a glare before they continue. “I’m Nyl Visz-Kain by the way. Ya might have heard of me…” Their sniff is a big as their accolades.

Pol cracks a knowing smile, “Didn’t I bump into you in a cantina on Rishi a few years back? Didn’t tell me you had a wife then…” The jab, and her grin, however, doesn’t land the way Pol intended it to.

Hylo waves her hand dismissively “Eh, don’t mind them. Their mine and it’s their choice that they’re stuck with it that way. What’s a little flirting between wives?” She then, without warning, kisses her wife on the lips and Pol can feel the warmth from where she stands.

“Regardless” Theron coughs, awkwardly “let’s… table what we were talking about for now.” Before he can continue, Doctor Oggurobb interjects.

“If I may be so bold. I have a favor to ask of you. I have my trained eye on a most promising recruit. A Gand, of all creatures. His expertise would help us in the quandaries we were discussing earlier.” The last part he addresses to the assembled advisors, before refocusing back on Pol. “If you would like to go over the details, you may find me in my splendid new laboratory!” The Hutt adjourns the meeting by sliding out and towards his sanctum

Theron sighs even thicker this time “So, any questions?” To which Pol can only chuckle at his expense. “No, I think I’ve taken up enough of your joint time.” She smiles and bows her head in deference “I think I will come by later and get better acquainted with each of you personally over the next few days.” Theron radiates relief at her as he trudges off to find his assigned quarters, something Pol feels like she should do, too.

It will end up being quite the week, after all…

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, thought Nyl was only going to show up in the prologue, did ya! (unless she already has in future stories set before this). WRONG! Minute I saw the dialogue between Hylo and the Outlander all those years ago when KOTFE first came out I've wanted to be her sexy smuggler wife! Nyl and Hylo act as a sort of interchangeable advisor, both run Visz-Kain Enterprises (their shipping/smuggling business) together and are shrewd businesspeople. Nyl, as will be shown, is much more of a bleeding heart than Hylo is, but they manage to love and support each others decisions all the same.
> 
> And yes, that's friendly banter between wives, they've been married for over a decade, something like Nyl's inability NOT to flirt or Hylo wanting to hook up with other people casually has been resolved years before this takes place...
> 
> Also also, thoughts on Theron and Pol? I really see them as very tight brother/sister or best friends, using their (sometimes) cynical viewpoints and sarcasm to laugh at all the things that make them incredibly scared. All while ribbing their ancestors (since, ya know, they've met them and all...)


	16. Be My Shield, Part One: An Aegis Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Aygo comes to a strategy meeting with an interesting proposition...  
> Lana's too worn out to think of a better one.

The war council gathers every few days to discuss recent developments and ongoing activities. The seven gathered around the table today, however, look a little worse for wear: 

Pol had just come back from a nearly disastrous mission recruiting a terrorist on Zakuul and then had to stop her new recruit from bombing the whole Spire; Sana-Rae had been woken in the middle of the night by one of the Sith Acolytes accidentally creating a miniature groundquake in the Enclave; Theron was just plain sleepy due to too many late nights sifting through intelligence reports, not to mention whatever he got up to on Zakuul while Pol was with Kaliyo; everyone knew what, and also  _ who _ , had kept Nyl up into the morning; Admiral Aygo had been in the sickbay for the last day due to accidentally standing too close to a starfighter's exhaust port and having all his whiskers singed off; Lana had just come back from meeting with an independent cell she had found and looked far more worn out, albeit pleasantly so, than she should have from such a blue milk run. The only one who looked any kind of peppy was Doctor Oggrurobb and, from what Lana and Theron told Pol, nobody ever saw him be anything  _ but _ peppy.

“Alright” Pol sighed as she leans on her pike “let’s kick off today’s agenda with any promising leads we have for new recruits. Lana?”

Their sleepy Spymaster jerks her head up, suddenly awake, “What? Oh! Yes…” Pol can feel the gears in her head turning. “Umm, give me a second…” 

Before she can continue, Bey’wan puts a hand up “Actually, I have something that’s worth looking into.” The bothan admiral searches his pouches and pockets for a moment before pulling out a data disk, inserting it into the nearest console on the holoprojector before continuing.

“Recently, I came into contact with the leader of the Coruscant Aegis. While they had been officially disbanded as part of the treaties with Zakuul, Saresh simply sent them on covert ops against the Sith instead.” The holoprojector displays a myriad of starships, mostly an array of snub fighters but with a few BT-7 Thunderclaps and a light carrier in the center of the formation. “Their commander expressed a distaste of Saresh’s orders and jumped at the chance to offer her squadron to our cause.”

Theron raises his eyebrow, “So what’s the catch?” 

Bey’wan sighs “The catch is, they need extraction.” The holoprojector shifts to a rather odd-looking Republic facility. “Two days ago, Saresh had to ‘hide’ the Aegis in a secret facility after a disastrous sortie on an Imperial garrison. Basically, they were all going to quit if the squadron were going to be forced to take part in civilian bombings, unknowingly or not, and Saresh put them under guard ‘for their own good’ for the foreseeable future.” His deep baritone husking out the last words with all the bile he could muster.

“So they’re basically under house arrest, right?” Pol asks

“Pretty much. Vas—their commander—managed to get a call out to me as they were being shipped out, told me where they were headed. If we can spring them, they’ve promised to aid us against the Eternal Empire, along with helping us to acquire more ships for our forces.”

“Well, I’m sold.” Pol grins. “Concerns?” Lana, having managed to get herself put together enough to be a part of the discussion, taps her chin thoughtfully. “I’d like to know where they’re being held, before we commit to breaking them and their ships out of prison.” Admiral Aygo sighs

“Sadly, we won’t be getting their ships along with the squadron, Saresh has them at Kuat for ‘refits.’ It’s still one of the most heavily defended locations in the Republic, raiding or stealing from it would be a massacre. However, the Aegis promised they know where to get ships with minimal risk; I’ve worked with them before during the Battle of Kuat and afterwards, so I know their word is good.” He taps a few buttons on the console, bringing up a system readout. “As for where they’re being held? Vas said it was on the planet Belsavis, in the Outer Rim.” Pol groans

“Belsavis, really? The place is a nightmare to get into, not to mention the local fauna.”

Surprisingly, it’s Nyl who gets the first word in “Well, that settles it, I’ll just have to take you.” The Mirialan cocks an eyebrow and a smirk. “Busted into that place plenty of times, it’ll be a breeze.” Their assured stance is completely different from the almost lazy lounge on the lip of the projector they had previously. Pol raises an eyebrow under her veil; she’d heard about Nyl’s adventures from their boasts in the cantina, but had brushed off some of the wilder tales as exaggeration.  _ “Maybe now’s a good time to see how much is bluster and how much isn't.”  _ “Any objections?”

“Besides the obvious? No.” Lana glares with sleep still pricking her eyes. “Although I’d suggest not going alone, if nothing else. I’d hate to have to break you out of  _ another _ prison, so soon after doing it the first time.”

This gets a hearty smile from Pol “Fair point. Who’s available right now? Besides T7, I mean.”

“Mmm… Koth isn’t doing anything right now, neither is Senya. You could also take Kaliyo, she’s an expert arsonist, although I think all of us have made clear our opinions on  _ her _ .” Lana coughs. “Besides that, we have a few specialists on breaking and entering who might be useful…” Nyl waives their hands

“No need, I have all the backup we’ll need.”

“Really? And who, pray tell, may that be?” The venom in her voice could poison a womp-rat nest.

“A Wookie. Plus, y’know, an ex-Jedi and the exiled Queen of Dubrellion, who’s also quite a shot with a sniper.” They grin harder. “Mix us up with the Jedi’s Battlemaster and her really cute droid, and we have ourselves a party!”

Lana sighs, pinching her nose, turning back to Pol “Take Senya, she will come in handy.” Her face takes on an almost pained expression before finishing her thought. “At least with all of them along, I can feel more assured you won’t simply get captured the minute you step out of the ship…” Pol smiles, patting her friend on the shoulder comfortingly, “Hey, easy there, you know it’ll take more than a full garrison of Republic soldiers to catch me.” 

Lana only groans louder.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo I love starfighter combat, especially when Star Wars does it right. When I played the first iteration of every Space Combat level I loved them, I just wish they'd taken the time (even after the fact) to craft individual levels for each scenario, even if the objectives stay the same. Still haven't picked up Galactic Starfighter, I don't know if my clunky PC can handle it, but I really want to see how good it is and if it can compare to the Rogue Squadron games or OG Battlefront 2.
> 
> I also wanted to make sure, regardless of what I bring in with future batches, that Nyl gets at least one story of getting sh*t done. The as yet unwritten part 2 is her doing that.
> 
> Also!!!  
> Free OC insert to the first person who can guess who Lana met with before the meeting. This will be deleted when the relevant chapter is uploaded, winner or no.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!  
> After eons of being eerily silent, the nefarious author, DizzIzzi, has come out of hiding with new material!  
> Star Wars: Tales from the Old Republic is an anthology series and, as such, will look complete when it is in fact not. As I develop more and more stories to be slotted into place, I will expand this work and edit it should the unforeseeable change of heart happen.  
> Just because this work may be dormant for months does not mean it is dead! It's just simmering, don't rush the cook people. ^_^
> 
> This work wouldn't be possible if it wasn't for the amazing author Talonticus and her series, The Talon Legacy. It not only got me back into Star Wars: The Old Republic for the first time since it went Free-to-Play, but filled my head with wonderful stories that let me see the game and the world within in a new light. Seriously, thank you. I sit on the edge of my seat for the next chapter of your works to come out all the time, it's wonderful.
> 
> I would love comments, feedback and whatever else you want to send me! I love interacting with the readers, even if real life gets in the way of prompt responses...
> 
> Your Author  
> -Izzi


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